The Skipper
by LinzRW
Summary: Ana has spent her life Skipping between this world and Middle Earth. From running away from clumsy balrogs to adoring majestic Thorin, from making fun of pretty boy elves to being sacrificed to a dragon, from weddings with dwarf bridesmaids to drinking parties with an elvenking and his moose, Ana's life is a mess. Either that or she's just going insane. PART TWO: ANAMNESIS is up!
1. A Perfectly Good Explanation

**PART ONE: ANACHRONISM**

**I: A Perfectly Good Explanation**

There is a perfectly good explanation for all of this, I swear. I Skip, you see. I'm not from this world, I'm from another place and another time. I've just, you know, been Skipping back for forth between the two for the past fifteen years.

Look, the first time I Skipped was when I was six.

That was the day I slapped Marie because she called me a liar. We had been racing across the schoolyard with two teachers watch us, judging who was the winner and who was the loser. Marie was faster than me, so she won every time. I got sick and tired of losing so, during the fifth race, I pushed Marie and sprinted past her. She went to the teachers, crying and saying I cheated. So I slapped her.

They sent me to the principal's office.

I didn't think it was cheating. I was using my abilities to beat her. I couldn't help it that she fell over with just that little push.

The principal didn't see it that way. She called my mother and my father and they both came to school to pick me up. They weren't happy. The car ride home was spent with the two of them yelling at me—What was I thinking? How could I do that? Did I apologize to the poor girl? Apologize the next day! How could I do such a thing? Did they not raise me right?

I sat in the car and bore with their lectures the entire ride home. Then—the moment the car came to a full stop in the garage—I threw open the door, stormed up to my room, and fell down on the bed, crying.

I hated my life. Right then I hated everything—the principal, the teachers, Marie, my parents, I hated them all. I just wanted to get away. To run away. To leave it all behind and _never_ come back.

So I Skipped. (Yeah, that seemed pretty random to me too.)

One moment, I was sobbing in my bed. Then—flash! I was lying on a cold stone floor.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

I sat up and looked around. I was not in my home. I was not in any place I recognized.

Footsteps.

Shouting.

I was tucked away in a corner, staring out at the mayhem before me.

It was a hallway. A beautifully carved hallway lit only by candles that lined the walls. Engraved arches swooped overhead, lacing together to form the ceiling. People crowded the hall. Not people—they were too short to be people. Short and stout. The men had long, braided beards and wore battle armor. Swords were strapped at their sides. The little men—they were actually dwarves, but I didn't know they were called dwarves back then—ran down the hallway long, arching stone hallway. They were running away from something. I could not see from what, but the dwarves were shouting things in a strange language.

One fat dwarf without a beard stopped and grabbed my by the wrist. He shouted something in a gravelly voice, but I could not understand it. The dwarf—suddenly it occurred to me that he was actually a she; I was looking at a short, stout, ugly woman—shook her head and left me.

I was so frightened I forgot to cry.

What was going on? Why was everyone running? What were they afraid of? Why was I even here? My room? My bedroom? Where had it gone? Where was mother? Where was father? I didn't know.

My heart was racing. I curled into a ball, sitting on the stone floor beside a thick pillar. No one noticed me. They were all too wrapped up in their own problems to notice a little six-year-old girl. (Can't say I blame them.)

The crowds began to thin out. Most of the dwarves were gone. A few more dwarves came sprinting down the hallway—these ones dressed in full battle armor—with their swords and axes raised. Some of them were nursing bloody wounds and other burns.

All of a sudden the fear, the panic, the unknown—it all got to me. I buried my face in my hands and started to bawl. I could taste salt on my lips. A deep hacking sound rose in my throat and I coughed—snot was streaming down my face.

"_Gos_! _Gos_!_ Sebar_!"

I looked up and stared at the dwarf in front of me. A little taller than the other dwarves, he had long, scraggly brown-black hair and a black beard—both were matted with blood. He wore the same battle armor as the others, but there was a superior, air about him that stood out from the rest. His sword was grasped in his right hand; his left hand was curled into a fist, long red burns covering the back of the hand.

He said something again that I did not understand.

"What you say?" I sniffled. The tears would not stop pouring down my face. My eyes were puffy and my face grimy. I was covered in snot and my hair was a mess. Man, I must have looked ugly—don't agree with me!

It was the first time the dwarf saw me properly for the first time. His eyes widened as he took in my blue jeans and pink t-shirt.

"Who are you?" he asked, this time in my own language.

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. "I'm Ana."

He hesitated and then gave his own name. "Thorin."

The tears stopped and I giggled a little. "That's a funny name."

Then, there was great, deep howl from somewhere down the hall. I let out a little squeak of terror and shrunk further back into the shadows. Thorin however scooped my up with his left arm and started sprinting down the hallway. I screamed and flung my arms around his neck.

"Put me down! Put me down!"

"Only if you want to be eaten by Smaug!" shouted Thorin.

"Smaug? What is that? Is that some kind of illness?"

And then, the great red dragon appeared at the end of his hall. Great yellow teeth, bright red scales, fiendish yellow eyes—the dragon Smaug was a demon of the halls.

My screams renewed and I started clawing Thorin's back.

"Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!"

I screamed as the sound ripped through my throat. I howled and wept like a banshee, clinging to Thorin. He sprinted along the hall as fast as his short legs could carry him. I squirmed so much that Thorin dropped me. I landed with a heavy crack on the cold stone floor.

"Ana!"

Smaug opened his terrible jaws and let loose the fire. Heat ripped down the hallway,. Flames ate the walls as they drew ever closer to me.

Skip.

I screamed and thrashed about on my bed. The covers wrapped around me and—with a heavy thud—I crashed to the floor on top of one of my Barbie Dolls. (They're these type of plastic, perfect females that—oh never mind.) I sat up right and looked about the room wildly. There was no dragon in sight. No Thorin either.

"Ana? Ana!"

My mother threw open the door to my room. She stood in the doorway, gasping for breath. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of me.

"You're alright," she said.

But I was not alright. Tears welled in my eyes and I sobbed miserably into the sheets of my bed. Little six-ear-old me could not take it.

I cried continuously that night. I tried to explain to my mother what had happened. It wasn't just a dream. It had been real. I had really gone to that place. I had really seen those little men. I had really seen a dragon. Thorin had been real. My mother and father would not believe me. A dream, they said, and nothing more. Eventually, I believed them. (I was a little idiot back then.)

But the Skipping did not stop there. A few months later—in the middle of my friend's seventh birthday party—I Skipped back to Middle Earth and found myself in the bed of an inn. My trip lasted about half a day before a randomly appeared at my friend's house—her parents searching everywhere for me. They had even called the cops.

I skipped at least a dozen times over the next few years. I ended up in a different place and a different time each Skip. Once I woke up in the lair of giant Spider. Another time I woke up in Hobbiton. Oh and I visited a small village in Rohan once. None of the trips were particularly eventful. It wasn't until I was twelve that anything interesting happened.

I got hit by a truck. Well, that's an overstatement. I didn't actually get hit by a truck. I was crossing the street—going to meet some friends for shopping—and I wasn't looking where I was going. The horn honked. I turned. I saw the truck. The driver screamed. I screamed. Skip.

Some part of me wishes the truck had hit me that day. It would have been better than the horror I saw in Middle Earth.

I opened my eyes to slopes of dying grass. Ahead, I could see the foul ruins of the White City. Fire burned amongst the rubble and a thick cloud of black smoke rose into the gray sky. The faded images of orcs filled Minas Tirith, their celebration could be heard across the plains. I wept, though I did not know then what such destruction meant. I only knew that dark things had come to pass and the red fires over the mountain tops spoke of doom to the world in which I stood.

"There's alive one."

I spun around. My heart racing.

I had never seen an orc before then. Four stood before me, their marred and gruesome faces leering. They murmured something amongst themselves in a foul tongue. It ripped my ears to shreds simply to listen to them speak. Their yellow teeth clacked together and their pale eyes flickered toward me and away. There was a terrible hunger about them. I could feel their lust for death swarming about me like a disease. One orc drew his bloodstained blade.

"I'm starvin'."

"This one won't be a mouthful."

"A snack before dinner!"

He swung the sword, aiming for my throat.

I shrieked and flung my hands above my head. (Very heroic, I know.) The Skip took control and I found myself sitting on the sidewalk next to the truck. No harm had come to me, yet the image of the burning city was embedded in my mind and those foul orcs. Decayed men, I thought of them then. The kind that creep into nightmares.

I had witnessed the destruction of Middle Earth. I won't tell you too much of what happened, but I know that the last hope of survival had been crushed. Everything had failed. Everything was dead. There was no hope left for Middle Earth. It was the end.

I Skipped multiple times over the next four years. They were all reasonably insignificant. Though, I do remember this one time where I met some elves. It was my first time actually seeing elves, thought I had heard much about them. I was seventeen. A senior in high school. I was sitting at my desk doing homework. I was working on a particularly difficult math problem and—flash!

I opened my eyes to the face of the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Actually, it wasn't a man. I realized that pretty quickly when I saw his pointy ears. His long dark brown hair fell about his shoulders. He seemed to glow with a kind of deep, eternalness that I could not understand.

So, of course, I screamed. It's a natural reaction to waking up face to face with a beautiful stranger.

He quickly leapt away and cried something in a foreign language.

Beside him stood another beautiful elf. The two had similar features (most likely brothers). They stared at me for a moment and then exchanged some quick conversation in elvish.

"Who are you?" asked the brother.

I shuffled quickly backwards and looked about wildly. I was in a forest, surrounded by thick, crooked trees. Moss covered the roots and the ground while leaves, fallen from the rich evergreen trees, littered the ground. The two elves ("men with pointy ears," I thought of them) stared at me in wonder.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I asked first?" said Elrohir. (They told me their names later, but, to save confusion, I will tell you their names now).

"My name is Ana." I slowly got to my feet and tried to brush the brown leaves off my jeans. "I'm not from this place."

"Clearly," said Elladan. "No mortal inhabits this wood."

"Why have you entered here?" asked Elrohir.

"I didn't mean to," I said. "I just sort of get dumped where I get dumped."

Elladan blinked. He tilted his head to the side and stared at me. "What are you talking about? I do not understand."

"She is trying to confuse us," said Elrohir.

"No," said Elladan. "I think she is telling the truth."

I sighed. "Look this happens from time to time—like a sickness. I am in my home doing whatever and them—bam—I'm in this other place. One time I was chased by a dragon. The next time I was attacked by decayed men outside a burning city. Then—bam—I'm home. Be on your merry way—I'm just passing through."

Elrohir stared. "She makes no sense."

"Maybe it's the language barrier," said Elladan. "I thought I spoke this language well, but maybe I am mistaken."

"I skip from here to there," I said, waving my arms about in some attempt to explain things. "I come from a different world. I don't know why. It just happens. I skip!"

"You skip?" said Elladan thoughtfully. "_Senturiel_?"

"Say what?"

"Do not be deceived, Elladan," said Elrohir. "She could be a spy."

"I'm not," I said.

"She talks in an odd way," said Elladan. "The likes of which I have not heard in Middle Earth."

"You are not so all-knowing that you've heard every tongue," said Elrohir.

"You're the ones who talk weird!" I snapped. "Don't worry. I'll be going back any minute now…"

We waited.

"These thing come and go as they please," I said, crossly.

Elladan laughed. "I like her. She is amusing."

Elrohir sighed and shook his head. "You find the oddest things to be amusing."

"Ana, was it?" said Elladan. "You say you are not from this world, then where are you from?"

"Ohio," I said. "It's a state in the USA."

"I have never heard of such strange places," said Elladan.

"That is because she is lying," said Elrohir.

"_Ui_! You are too paranoid," said Elladan. He turned to me and smiled (God, he has a beautiful face). "You are in Lorien, Ana. The forest of our grandmother and grandfather. No one has passed the borders of this forest unseen before you."

"That's because I didn't pass the borders," I said. "I was dropped here. When I skipped worlds."

Elladan turned to his brother and said, "_Senturiel_."

"_La_." Elrohir snapped something back in elvish, but Elladan ignored him. He turned to me and grinned. "I am Elladan, son of Elrond and Celebrian, and this is my brother, Elrohir. Welcome to Lorien, Ana of Ohio. We should treat guests better, should we not, Elrohir?" Elladan shot a wild grin at his brother before turning back to me. "Would you like to meet the Lady Galadriel, Ana?"

I blinked. "Is it…dangerous?"

Elladan shook his head. "Not if you are with us."

"Okay."

But I never met Lady Galadriel. At least, not during that Skip. There was a flash and I opened my eyes to see my bedroom again. My math homework sat on the desk in front of me. I looked around, but there was no sign of Elrohir and Elladan. Only my unmade bed and my messy room. I turned back to my homework. Took a deep breath, and returned to solving my math problem.

I think all the Skipping messed up my personality. I'll watch movies (They're these little stories that are told in pictures...yeah. I knew you wouldn't get it.) and the main characters are always surprised and horrified when unexpected things happen. I just kind of do whatever. Skippings so normal nowadays. One moment I'll be in class taking notes—the next I'll be fleeing from mountain trolls. This kind of life really is not healthy.

So anyways, all personal reflections aside, I Skipped about for the next few years. Nothing interesting happened. That is, until my twenty-first birthday. You see, I had my friends Bonnie and Nick over to celebrate—and, well, it went something like this:

I jumped onto the couch of my apartment living room and settled into the seat between Nick and Bonnie.

"Alright!" I cried. "Movie time! Where's the remote?"

"I don't know," said Nick. "I thought you had it."

"No," I said. "You had it...Are you hiding it? That's not funny!"

"You're sitting on it, dimwit," said Bonnie, pulling the remote out from underneath me.

"Right, right," I said, taking the remote from her and pressing play. The screen turned black and the opening music began. "Oh, I'm excited!"

"I hate this movie," said Bonnie. "Too many sappy romance scenes."

"Shush," I said. "I'm the birthday girl, I get to decide."

"There are a million funner things to do on your twenty-first birthday," said Nick.

"Yeah," said Bonnie. "Why aren't we in a bar getting drunk off our asses?"

"You people are no fun," I said, pouting. "The choice between watch the newly released _Phantom of the Opera_ and going to a bar and getting wasted—"

"I'd choose getting wasted any day of the week," said Bonnie.

"Hear, hear!" cried Nick, high-fiving Bonnie behind my head.

"You people suck," I said. "See if I ever invite you to my birthday party again."

"I think we should tie her up and take the remote," said Nick.

"I'm totally up for it."

"Hey!" I threw my hands in front of my face. "Hey! What do you think you're doing!"

Nick started tickling my sides and I let out a scream of laughter. Bonnie lunged for the remote, but I held a firm grip on it with my left hand while trying to fend Nick off with my right. The three of us fell to the floor in a heap.

"Arg!" I cried, swatting Nick away. "No! No! It's my birthday, we're watching my movie! Not going to bar!"

"But the majority says bar!"

"I'm the birthday girl!" I karate chopped Nick and Bonnie on top of their heads, each in turn. Laughing, they pushed me over and sat on top of me.

"Hand over the remote," said Bonnie.

"I won't be afraid to tickle attack you again," added Nick.

"Never!" I cried, clutching the remote close to my chest. "I'll never give in to your evil aspirations!"

"Come on!" said Bonnie. "You're no fun."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Boo-hoo, they'll understand if you're hung over."

"No."

"Come on!" Bonnie reached for the remote.

"No!"

Skip.

(Yeah, these Skips come at really bad times.)

I opened my eyes to gold. Mountains and mountains of gold. Gold coins, gold cups, gold jewelry, gold armor, gold dishes, gold tools, gold walls, gold ceilings—I stood on a stone pathway (the only place where you could see the floor in this great hall) amongst piles of gold. The riches overwhelmed me. I gasped as I took in the dazzling sight. Why couldn't I skip to places like this all the time?

I was still holding the remote. I placed it on the ground and then stood up, gawping. I wandered along the pathway for a moment, just taking in the sight. Could anyone ever want for more with all this gold?

I glanced around nervously. There was no one in sight. Was the gold unguarded? That was hard to believe. If I was this rich, I would never let any of the gold out of my sight. Surely, someone would steal it.

Nope. Not a soul in sight.

Well, alright then.

I glanced at the mountain of gold nearest to me. There was a gold goblet-like thing just sitting there. Pure gold with intricate engraving on the side, with green gems embedded at the base. It was a really pretty little thing. It would be a shame to leave it just lying there…

I reached out a hesitant hand and carefully lifted it from its resting place.

Big mistake.

There came a deep rumbling sound—almost a yawn—from deep within the mountain of gold. I leapt back, dropping the gold cup instantly. It landed on the ground with a heavy clank. The sound rung through the hall.

Then, the mountain of gold began to move.

An avalanche of gold coins came pouring down into the pathway, as the mountain grew taller and taller. I shrieked and sprinted down the path, away from the gold pouring down like a fountain, covering the stone floor.

I gawked at the mountain, unable to comprehend. The gold coins fell away, revealing a red mountain beneath. No. Not a mountain. A dragon. Smaug.

I stared. And stared. And stared.

The great blue eyes blinked and the head of the beast turn to me. I could see all of its yellow teeth, sticking out jaggedly from its red mouth.

I stared.

Then I screamed.

Then I ran. Like all hell was after me.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHH!"

Yeah. It sounded a little something like that.

I sprinted down the pathway through the mountains of gold. There was a stone doorway a little ways ahead. I sprinted straight to it, the deep growl of Smaug sounding from behind me.

I just made it through the doorway when Smaug let loose a blast of flame.

"Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!" I screamed, sprinting down the corridor. "Why is it always a dragon!?"

Another roar. Another burst of flames whipped after me.

I screamed. "Skip me back! Skip me back! Skip me back!"

Back I went.

The flames were gone. The dragon was gone. I was sitting alone in my apartment. The lights were on. The movie was still playing. The couch was a mess. The remote was gone. Nick and Bonnie were nowhere to be seen.

So, the next few days I searched for any trace of Bonnie and Nick. There was none. They had disappeared off the face of the planet. Such a thing has never happened before, but I began to suspect that I had taken them with me to Middle Earth. Which is not a good thing. They could have been burnt to crisps by Smaug. Or ended up somewhere else entirely. Hopefully not with orcs or goblins or any other evil thing. All I know is they were no longer in my world—which probably means they are here.

So, being the good and kind friend that I am, I decided to come and look for them. Of course, I have no control over my Skips. They come and go as they please. Though they always come whenever I am absolutely terrified and about to die.

Yes, I know what you're thinking. And, yes, I really did it.

I jumped off a building.

Thank God it worked or I would be splattered across the sidewalk right now.


	2. Crazy Dwarves With Swords

**II: Crazy Dwarves With Swords**

I shifted in the chair and tried to make myself comfortable. "So, I woke up in this room—with you and the fire and the weapons on that table that scare me to death and decided—hey, since I know you, maybe you'll help me find my friends!"

Thorin stared at me.

He stood on the other side of the room near a table that supported several very pointy weapons—as far away from me as he could get. He stared at me for a good long time before he said, "Are you really Ana?"

"Yep."

"You died. One-hundred-and-seventy-years ago. In Smaug's fire."

"No, I Skipped before he could kill them—though it's an easy mistake to make." I paused. "One-hundred-and-seventy years ago? Man, you look _good_."

Thorin stared.

I scratched the back of my head. "So then—can you help me?"

"Help you in what way?"

"Find my friends?"

"No."

I blinked. "Why not?"

"I have a life. I do not have time to just cast aside what I am doing to help you run around Middle Earth trying to find two people who might not even be here." Thorin frowned. "I do not even know who you are."

"But! But! But!" I leapt up from my seat. "You've known me since I was little!"

"For two seconds. Then you died."

"Skipped," I corrected. "Though it is an easy mistake to make. Even so! We should be even closer since you witnessed my death!"

"No."

"Come on!"

"No."

"That's not nice!"

"No."

I crossed my arms. "It's my birthday."

"No it is not."

"Okay, okay. My birthday was yesterday—but still!"

Thorin gritted his teeth. "Skip back to wherever you came from, will you?"

"You can't make me!"

Thorin sighed and walked across the room. I watched him, unsure of what he was thinking. Then he pulled a sword off the table filled with weapons and turned to me.

"Okay," he said. "Now will you go back to wherever you came from?"

I shrieked and bolted for the door. "Watch where you point that thing!"

Thorin chased after me. I managed to reach the door when he grabbed me from behind and spun me around. He pressed the sword to my throat.

"You lie."

"No! No really! Look at me! Do I look like I'm from Middle Earth!? I'm Ana! Really! Don't kill me!"

Thorin pushed me against the door. "Skip now if you can."

"I told you! It comes and goes! I have n—"

The door opened. I screamed. Thorin and I went crashing down to the ground. He dropped his sword and it clattered against the stone floor. We lay there at the feet of another dwarf—with me squashed beneath Thorin.

I opened my eyes and stared up at the stout dwarf with a long gray beard tucked into his red belt. He stared down at Thorin and me, his eyebrows raised in confusion.

"Um…"

"Help!" I cried. "This madman is trying to kill me!"

Thorin stood up. I tried to escape, but he grasped me by the collar and held on tightly. "Do not worry," said Thorin. "She is my problem."

"Problem!?" I cried. "Who are you calling a problem!?"

"Ah. Are you sure?" asked Balin.

Thorin lifted me off the ground, just high enough so my feet could not touch.

"She is shorter than a dwarf and she can not use a weapon," said Thorin. "I think I can handle her."

"I came to you for help!" I cried. "And this is how you repay me!?"

"What exactly is she?" asked Balin, inspecting me carefully.

I stopped struggling and glared at Thorin. "I'm human. I'm not explaining the whole Skipping thing again."

Thorin ignored me and turned to Balin. "What was it you came to say?"

"Er—" Balin glanced at me before turning back to Thorin. "Gandalf wants to meet with us."

"Meet?" asked Thorin.

"Gandalf?" I asked.

"He's a wizard," explain Balin.

"Do not acknowledge its existence," said Thorin. "I will deal with it."

"Oh," I said. "So I'm an 'it' now. That's nice."

"Why does Gandalf want to meet?" asked Thorin, ignoring me entirely.

"I do not know for sure. But he says it is about Erebor," said Balin.

Thorin stiffened. "Erebor?"

"What's that?" I asked.

"It is our homeland which Smaug—"

"Balin," said Thorin. "You speaking to it again." He paused. "Alright. I will meet with Gandalf. Where and when does he desire the meeting place to be?"

"He wants to meet at the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree," said Balin. "In a full moon's time."

"A full moon?" Thorin gritted his teeth. "That is not long."

"It is Erebor," said Balin.

Thorin nodded. "It is."

"So Erebor is the place where Smaug killed me?" I said.

"What is she saying?" asked Balin.

Thorin shook me roughly by the collar. "_It_ is speaking nonsense. It happens often."

"I hate you," I said.

Thorin nodded. "We will meet with Gandalf. We will depart as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning would be best."

Balin nodded. He picked up Thorin's fallen sword and handed it to him.

"I will discuss things further with you later," said Thorin. "First, I have to deal with…this."

He turned around and carried me back into the room. He tossed me down on a seat and pointed his sword at my throat. "Alright," he said. "What should I do with you?"

"Help me?"

"No."

"Not kill me?"

"Maybe."

I sighed. "So, you're going to try and take back Erebor? From Smaug?"

Thorin glowered at me. "Perhaps."

"Just warning you, I have seen Smaug recently and he's no walk in the park."

"A walk in the what?" Thorin narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me?"

"No. No. I would never do that. Probably."

"You are annoying."

"Sorry."

Thorin lowered his sword (finally) and frowned. "What should I do with you? I cannot leave you here."

"Just out of curiosity—where is here exactly?"

He ignored me. "I cannot take you with me to Bree."

"Where is here? Where is Bree? I don't know these places. Tell me something!"

"We are in the Blue Mountains," said Thorin, staring into the crackling flames of the fire. "Bree is a small town southeast of here."

"Ah. See," I said. "That wasn't so hard."

Thorin glared at me. "It is not too late to cut off your head."

"Yeah, please don't." I sighed. "Don't worry. I usually disappear after awhile. The longest I've ever stayed in Middle Earth for was a day."

"A day with you is long enough for me."

"Thanks. You're sarcasm is appreciated."

"That was not sarcasm."

"I know. I'm pretending it is."

Thorin sighed and sat down in the chair opposite me. "I could always try to kill you. You seem to Skip whenever your life is threatened."

"Let's not test that theory again…" I said slowly. "Jumping off a building was more than enough for me."

"Did you actually jump off a building?"

_WHACK_.

I was lying face down on the sidewalk. I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the dark sky. I rubbed my aching nose and sighed. It looked like I was back.

Someone stepped around me—shooting a look of disgust in my direction. I smiled and waved. He hurried past me, pretending he hadn't noticed me.

Groaning, I sat up. I was sitting on the sidewalk beneath the building I had jumped off of earlier. At least the Skip hadn't brought me back halfway down the building. That would have been bad.

I did not head back home, but rather went to the nearest coffee shop (if they were closed—I was going to make like Thorin and start waving a sword around). Thankfully, the Starbucks nearest to my apartment was still open. I headed inside and order a latte.

"You look like you need one," said the man working there (according to his nametag his name was Ted).

"Yeah, well, trying falling from a five story building and end up inside a blue mountain with a crazy dwarf," I said.

Ted laughed awkwardly as he started making my latte. "Yeah. Um. That'll do it."

I grinned. "You've never met a crazy dwarf, have you?"

"No…"

"Lucky you. They're a pain in the backside, that's what they are."

"Okay…"

"I like my coffee bitter," I added. "Also, you've never fallen off a five-story building before, have you?"

"No…" Ted mixed the latte.

"Good. It's not safe. Unless you're me. Then it just ends with crazy dwarfs swinging swords at you."

"Right…" Ted put the lid on the cup of steaming coffee. "Here you go. Good night."

I smiled and took the cup from him. "Thanks. Good night to you too, Ted. Don't go jumping off any buildings!" And with that, I Skipped.

I don't do these things on purpose!

I was standing in the middle of a forest next to a thick oak tree. It was the dead of night and the only light was coming from a crackling fire not a dozen feet ahead of me. I stood there, coffee still in hand, rooted to the spot. Years of Skipping had taught me many things, one of which was—when you first arrive, don't move unless you know what the hell is going on around you! There were three gigantic trolls standing around the fire. They were huge, hulking beasts with gray, hairy skin and fat, crumpled faces. All three of them were hunched over a black pot that sat over the fire, steam rising from the pot. One of them was holding a dead sheep.

"Mutton today, mutton yesterday, and damn me if it isn't mutton tomorrow," grumbled one of the trolls.

"Some manflesh would be nice," said another. "William—why you bring us out here where there ain't a livin' thing."

William choked. "Shut yer mouth, Tom! You and Bert don't know nuthun'! People ain't goin' to stop here just to be eaten by you! Besides, we had one just a few nights ago. You ate him whole."

Tom licked his lips hungrily. "He was a juicy one. Nice and fat. Just the way I like 'em."

I took a sip of my Starbucks coffee. Alright then. It was trolls this time. Just my luck.

And then, I noticed him. A hobbit snuck up behind one of the trolls.

I have been to Hobbiton before. I've met hobbits. They didn't like me very much. Hobbits don't like strangers at all. They don't like the outside world at all. So what one hobbit was doing approaching three trolls was beyond my understanding. At least the trolls did not notice him. Trolls are stupid. They don't notice things very well. (They still had not noticed me standing there drinking coffee). If the hobbit had any sense, he would pick the William's pocket and be done with it—quick and easy.

Apparently, this hobbit had no sense.

He pulled the purse out of the trolls pocket and the purse made a loud noise as soon as it left the trolls pocket. William spun around and snatched the little hobbit up at once.

"Bert!" cried William, examining the hobbit. "Bert! Look what I've caught!"

"What is it?" asked Bert.

"I don' know," said William. He poked the hobbit carefully. "What are you?"

The hobbit squeaked. "Bilbo Baggins, I'm a bur—a hobbit!"

"Never heard of a burrahobbit before," said Bert.

"Can we eat it?" asked Tom.

"I don' see why not," said William. He opened his mouth and started to lower the hobbit in.

"Wait!" cried Bert.

William paused. Still dangling Bilbo over his mouth he turned to look at Bert. "Wha'?"

"Perhaps there are more like him around."

William thought about this for a second and then lowered Bilbo. "Yeah." He turned to Bilbo. "Are there more of you?"

"Yes, lots." Bilbo paused. "No. Not at all. None. Only me. Just me."

"Well," said William. "That settles that." He lifted Bilbo into the air over his mouth and prepared to drop Bilbo in to gap between his teeth, when Bert cried, "Wait!" again.

"Wha'?" asked William irritably.

"What does he mean by lots and none?" asked Bert.

"I don' know," said William. "Why don' you ask him?"

Bert turned to Bilbo. "What do you mean by lots and none?"

"None! None! None at all!"

"Wha'?" Bert blinked. "He's confusing me."

"Can we just eat him and be done with him?" asked Tom.

"Okay," said William. William lifted Bilbo up to eat him again, but Tom stopped him.

"Share!" cried Tom. "I'm hungry too."

"I found him," said William. "I get to eat him. That's the rule."

"We never had a rule like that," said Bert. "You made that up!"

"I jus' don't want mutton," said Tom.

I took another sip of my coffee. The whole scene played before me like a movie. A dwarf had appeared between two of the trees. He had a bow strapped over his shoulder and sword sheathed at his side. (Another crazy dwarf! I just can't get enough of them!). He didn't have a beard and was good-looking (He must be one of those near-extinct pretty-boy dwarves). He looked angry, however, and he glowered at the trolls.

"Put him down!" shouted the dwarf.

"Kili!" cried Bilbo.

The trolls glanced at Bilbo and then at each other.

"A dwarf," said William.

"Grab a sack!" cried Bert.

Tom dove for the sack, but Kili drew his bow and fired. The arrow embedded itself in Tom's arm. Tom howled in pain. Enraged, William hurled Bilbo at Kili. The second the dwarf caught him, Kili cried, "Now!" and a whole group of dwarves came charing into the clearing, weapons raised and ready for battle.

The trolls howled and started swinging their fists and stomping. Kili fired arrows while the dwarves swung their axes and swords. Balin sliced open one of the troll's knees—wait a second! Balin?

I paused mid-sip of my coffee and squinted at the dwarf. It was definitely Balin. The same Balin who abandoned me to torment at the hands of Thorin. Speaking of Thorin—he was there too! That crazy dwarf was swinging his sword like a maniac and attacking trolls left and right.

And then the trolls got a hold of Bilbo. Poor Bilbo. He looked like he was trying so hard, that hobbit so far from home. William and Bert got a hold of one leg and one arm each and stretched him as far as they could.

"Drop your weapons!" cried Bert. "Or we'll rip him to pieces!"

Thorin froze. His fellow dwarves followed his lead. For a long, endless moment, Thorin glared at Bilbo and the trolls. Then, he tossed his sword on the ground. Another pause. The dwarves copied him. The trolls tied up the dwarves and Bilbo in sacks and placed some of the dwarves on a roaster over the fire. The trolls stood over the roaster greedily, waiting for the dwarves to cook.

"Some nice dwarf," said William. "Haven't had that in a long time."

"Can they roast any faster?" asked Tom. "I'm hungry."

"Wait," barked Bert. "I haven't added the sage."

"Hurry up," said William. "The sun is going to come out soon."

"Stop! Stop! Wait!" cried Bilbo, leaping to his feet. "I would not do that if I were you! You are making a huge mistake!"

The trolls turned to stare at Bilbo.

"Wha'?"

"Wi-wth the seasoning," said Bilbo quickly. "Have you smelled these dwarves? Sage is not going to cover it."

"Hey!" cried Kili. "We do not smell that bad!"

The other dwarves barked their agreement. Thorin sighed and kicked Kili in the shoulder. At least he has common sense.

"Shut up," said Bert. He leaned forward. "Then what do you do with dwarves?"

"Um…um…" Bilbo struggled for a second. "Um…You have to…um…skin them…"

"_What_!?" cried one of the dwarves.

"That's a lie," said Tom. "I've eaten one whole before. Tasted just as good."

"Let me see," said William. He scooped up one of the dwarves and dangled the poor guy over his mouth.

"Not that one!" cried Bilbo. "He has worms! I wouldn't risk it! In fact—they all have worms! Nasty infected things!"

"We don't have worms!" shouted Kili.

Thorin rolled his eyes and kicked Kili in the head again. Kili paused and then screamed, "Yes! Yes! I do! Lots of worms! Lots!"

Soon all the dwarves joined in. "Worms! All over me! Inside and out! I'm infested! Infest to the bone! Nasty! Gross! Don't eat me!"

I finished off my coffee and tossed the cup away.

William was cowering in the corner, afraid to even touch the dwarves now. Tom looked kind of repulse. Bert, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward to inspect Bilbo.

"You're lying," he said.

Bilbo cringed. "No. No I'm not."

And then, one of the dwarves saw me. He eyes kin of bugged out of his head and he struggled against the bindings of his sack. "Help!" he shouted to me. "Help us!"

I blinked. It only just occurred to me that I was actually a part of this scene.

The trolls, dwarves, and hobbit all turned to stare at me. I hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward into the firelight.

"Hey," I said, waving. "Don't mind me—I'm just passing through."

"Who are you?" asked William.

"You!" cried Thorin.

I grinned at him. "Long time no see. Did you miss me? Or should I say 'it'. Did you miss 'it'?"

Thorin groaned. "I thought you Skipped away."

"I did. And then I Skipped here." I laughed. "That's pretty unfortunate for you."

"Who is she?" asked one of the dwarves.

"That's what I'm asking," said William.

"She looks good," said Tom.

"Why thank you," I said. "I haven't been told something that nice in a long time."

"Can I eat her?'

I sighed. "Never mind."

"Go away," said Thorin. "I will cut your head off this time."

"Oh," I said. "Is that what you say to someone trying to help you?"

Tom lunged at me. I screamed and leapt out of his arm's reach. William tried to grab me too, but I jumped over the dwarves lying on the ground and William tripped over them.

"Don't eat me!" I cried. "Eat the dwarves! Eat the dwarves!"

"Is this what you call helping?" asked Thorin.

"Is she not your problem?" asked Balin. "Why did you not deal with her back in the Blue Mountains?"

Thorin groaned. "She disappears."

Tom tried to grab me again and I sprinted behind Bilbo. "Save me!"

"What can I do?" asked Bilbo.

"Distract them!"

"How?"

"Talk about sage and eating dwarves! Or just let them eat you!"

Bert grabbed me by the leg and lifted me into the air. I screamed and kicked. My shoe flew off my foot and struck him in the eye. He dropped me.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Balin. "Girls do not just appear and disappear."

"This one does," said Thorin.

I screamed and hopped around the campsite with only one shoe on. Some of the dwarves were egging me on now, cheering my name as I hopped. But then I told the trolls to go eat the dwarves and the dwarves switched to cheering for the trolls. (Curse them!)

Bilbo started saying something to do with the proper way to skin dwarves. Thorin and Balin were still having a conversation about how I appeared and disappeared at random. The other dwarves were yelling random jeers and insults. The trolls were still trying to catch me. And I was still hopping around the campsite on one foot trying to avoid the trolls.

"Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!"

The sun rose on the horizon. William, Bert, and Tom screamed in horror. They tried to flee from the sunlight, but it was too late. Stone spread across their bodies, encasing them in stone. A moment later they were nothing more than statues.

I stood in the middle of them, still on one leg.

"Gandalf!" cried Bilbo.

"Excellent!"

I turned to see the old, gray wizard climbing down from the hill. So this was the man Thorin and Balin had gone to meet about Erebor. He looked like a wizard. He had the hat for it and the staff. However, he looked sort of hunched over and elderly—not very formidable. But, I was willing to forgive him that since he had just saved me from the three trolls.

"I was gone for only a few minutes and look what trouble you've gotten yourselves into." Gandalf paused and stared at me. "And who is this stranger?"

"Old problem," said Thorin.

I sighed. "I just saved you from being eaten by three trolls."

"Gandalf saved us," said one of the dwarves. "You just ran away screaming and telling the trolls to eat us instead."

I paused. "We'll just say I was saving you."


	3. The Company of Majestic Thorin

**III: The Company of Majestic Thorin**

I explained my situation to Gandalf and the others as best I could. I don't think they believed me. Of course, if didn't help that Thorin was standing next to me the whole time glowering and shaking his head disapprovingly. When I finished telling my story, the dwarves exchanged suspicious murmurs.

"I'm telling the truth," I said, pointing at my clothes. "Does this really look Middle Earth style to you?"

Some of the dwarves shook their heads.

"It is some sort of sorcery," said Balin.

"It's not!" I cried. "I'm really not from here!"

"She's not," said Thorin. (Surprisingly, I was pretty sure he hated me). "I knew her a long time ago. She was the little girl I thought Smaug had killed."

"See!" I cried, pointing at Thorin. "He agrees! That proves it!"

"That still does not prove that she is trustworthy," said Thorin. "She could be an elf spy."

"Oh my God!" I threw my hands up in the air. "You know what! It doesn't matter! I'm just passing through."

"I think she is telling the truth," said Bilbo suddenly.

I smiled fondly at the little Hobbit. "Aren't you nice?"

Gandalf frowned. "What I am curious about is the burning city you saw."

"Minas Tirith?" I asked. "What about it?"

"Why was it burning?"

I paused. The sun sat low on the horizon. Orange lights shone through the tree branches onto the backs of the stone trolls. Gandalf glowered at me, his thick gray eyebrows furrowed together. I had never been asked about the future before. Should I tell him? Should I tell him the horrors that lead to the destruction of Minas Tirith? Should I tell him Sauron will win?

"I can't say."

Gandalf gripped his staff tightly. "What did you say?"

"I can't tell you," I said. "That's the future. Oh my God! Look at that dwarf's beard!"

Everyone followed my line of sight as I bounded over to the fat dwarf's side and pointed wildly at his beard, which was actually one thick braid that draped across is chest.

"My beard?" asked Bombur.

"It's fantastic!" I cried.

"Hold on," said Gandalf. "You cannot escape that easily."

Bombur stroked his reddish-brown braid and smiled sheepishly. "It is rather splendid."

"You have not seen many beards, little girl, if you are impressed by Bombur's," said another dwarf, stepping forward. Oin had a great gray beard that had been braided in the front so that it formed a sort of hairy bow.

I gasped. "Wow—that's one incredible beard. How do you braid like that?" I ran my fingers through my tangled mess of dark blond hair and said, "I can never do anything with this mess."

"It requires a great deal of practice," said Oin.

"My mother taught me," added Ori.

"She did a great job!" I said.

Gandalf opened his mouth to ask me another question about Minas Tirith, but soon all the dwarves (with the exception of Thorin and Balin) swarmed around me and started showing off their beards.

"Kili!" cried Gloin (a ginger dwarf with too much hair to manage). "You do not even have a beard!"

"Can he even grow one?" asked Oin.

Kili, the youngest dwarf in the company, lacked a beard, though he did have the short height and long hair covered. He crossed his arms and said, "I will grow a beard soon enough and it shall be more magnificent than any of yours."

"He only wishes," said Gloin with a bark of laughter.

I laughed along with the rest of the dwarves, well aware that somewhere behind me Gandalf, Thorin, and Balin were having a meeting about my suspiciousness.

"She is not an elf spy," said Gandalf. "But I fear she may work for more evil purposes."

"It is unnatural," said Balin. "Girls should not pop out of the ground like daisies."

"She cannot pop out of the ground," said Thorin. "And she is no spy of orcs or goblins. She is from another place—one far, far away from ours. When fleeing from Erebor when Smaug attacked, I found a little human girl crying in the corner. I thought she had been killed in Smaug's fire and I told no one of our meeting. Yet she appears over a century later and knows of Ana. She is the same Ana. I do not doubt it in the slightest. She is insane and completely out of her mind, but she is no orc spy."

Gandalf nodded.

"But," continued Thorin. "She might yet be an elf spy. On our last meeting, she admitted to knowing two elves—Elrohir and Elladan, she called them."

"Elrohir and Elladan?" said Gandalf. "She knows them?"

"Them?" I asked. "We're BFFs."

Kili paused and stared at me in confusion. "BFFs? What is that? She speaks oddly."

"Best Friends Forever," I said. I turned back to Gandalf. "You know those crazy guys?"

"Yes."

"She admits it," said Thorin. "She is friends with elves."

"And so am I, Thorin Oakenshield," said Gandalf. "But that does not make me a spy."

I nodded. "See, Gandalf knows."

Gandalf shot me a disgusted glare.

"She does not seem all that bad," said Bofur. "It cannot do us any harm to let her travel with us for awhile."

"Travel with us?" repeated Thorin. (I'm pretty sure a look of horror flashed cross his usually emotionless face).

"She does seem rather lost," said Bifur.

Other dwarves in the company were soon voicing their agreement (Apparently they liked short girls who appreciated the art of beard braiding). Thorin, Gandalf, and Balin had another quick meeting concerning my suspiciousness, this time the meeting take place out of earshot. Then, the three of them returned and grudgingly allowed me to travel with the group of a little while—it would be easier to keep an eye on me that way, said Balin, best to keep enemies close.

I just sort of smiled and thanked them. The dwarves hobbled back on their ponies. Gandalf was on a horse at the front of the party. He looked back over the group of dwarves—and hobbit—with a rather amused look in his eyes. He must have felt like a giant amongst all the others.

Poor Bilbo struggled to get up onto his pony and Dori had to help the hobbit up. Once Bilbo was situated (though looking extremely uncomfortable), Dori settled himself on his own horse. Thorin rode at the head of the company along with Gandalf. He looked exceedingly proud and important despite there being about a foot difference between him and Gandalf. I decided not to mention this fact.

"Here," said Fili. "Would you like a ride?"

I turned around and saw Fili on a light gray pony. He offered a hand to me and I took it. He hoisted me up onto the back of his pony. The animal let out a little whinny of protest, but soon clattered on after the rest.

"So where are you from, then," asked Fili, "If not from Middle Earth?"

"A magical and mythical place called Ohio," I said.

"Is it nice there?" asked Kili. His brown pony trotted up beside Fili and me.

"It's alright," I said. "Not nearly as beautiful as Middle Earth. Ohio is much more…you know, modern, I guess. It's just different." In a desperate attempt to change the conversation, I said, "So that Thorin—he's something, huh?'

Kili nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! Uncle is incredible!"

"Uncle?"

Fili nodded. "Our mother is his sister."

"Oh… Maybe I should keep my comments on Thorin's majestic to myself."

"Majesty?" Fili glanced over his shoulder at me. "What were you going to say about our uncle's majesty?"

"He is very majestic," said Kili earnestly.

I grinned. "He's just…you know, so majestic. Look at the way he sits on that pony. Isn't that majestic?"

Fili and Kili slowly turned to stare at Thorin. He rode beside Gandalf, engaging the wizard in conversation (there were probably discussing very serious matters). Thorin sat upright on his pony. His back was straight and his head held high. He brushed his long brown hair out of his face and said something in reply to Gandalf. At the same time, the pony tossed it long brown mane and whinnied.

Kili turned around and grinned at me, the smile stretching across his beardless face. "Uncle is so very majestic."

I nodded gravely. "Even his pony is majestic."

"Look at those locks," said Kili.

"Oh please," said Fili. "Kili, you have said that you wanted to be like Thorin since the day you could talk."

"He's a majestic wannabe," I said.

Fili laughed. He mimicked Kili's slightly higher voice and cried, "Am I majestic yet?"

I tried to make my voice deep and manly and replied, "Shut up, Kili. You're crowding my majesty."

"Look at me, Uncle!" cried Fili. "I'm brooding. Am I majestic yet?" He paused and then sniffed.

I blinked and then said in my deep-Thorin-voice: "Kili…are you sniffing me?"

"Your majesty…it is just so potent!"

We both doubled over with laughed and the pony snorted irritably. Kili scowled at the two of us.

"You have it wrong," said Kili.

"Do we?" I asked.

"Yes," said Kili. "It's more like this—Uncle Thorin, you are so majestic, teach me the ways of majesty so that I too may walk in the light!"

"No," I said. "You do not have any majestic potential."

"You do not even have a beard," said Fili.

"What are you three talking about?" asked Bilbo, his pony trotting up between Kili and Fili's ponies.

"Bilbo!" I cried, still using my deep majestic Thorin voice. "How great it is to meet someone with so much majestic potential like myself!"

"Fili!" cried Kili. "Is this hobbit more majestic than me!?"

Fili sighed. "Kili, are you going to ask that every time we meet someone new?"

"I cannot help it!" cried Kili. "Thorin's lack of majestic love makes me insecure!"

"I do not understand," said Bilbo.

"It's alright," I said. "Your lack of understanding is what gives you so much majestic potential."

"Why must you say such hurtful things, Uncle?" cried Kili.

"It is alright, Kili," said Fili. "We are still known as the attractive dwarves."

"But it is not majestic!" cried Kili.

Kili, Fili, and I laughed while Bilbo just looked plain confused. I adjusted myself on the pony, pulling myself up to my full height and I said, "This lighting is not very good. I need darker, more moody lighting for the full power of my majesty to be unleashed."

Kili laughed. "Oh uncle, let me hold a torch for you so that your majesty may reach its highest potential!"

"Yes, Kili," I said. "That would be good. But do not get too close—you might infect my majesty."

"Hey!" said Fili, elbowing me in the stomach. "He's coming."

Kili and I reeled around to see Thorin—atop his pony—glaring at us. "You think that is amusing, do you?"

Kili looked embarrassed, while I smiled and waved.

"How are you doing, Thorin?" I asked.

"I should not have allowed you to come along," said Thorin.

"But you did," I said. "And we're having fun."

Thorin sighed and turned his pony around.

"He's a real stick in the mud," I said, shaking my head.

"A what?" asked Bilbo.

"A—you know—a someone who isn't much fun."

"Uncle Thorin can be a lot of fun," said Kili. "You just have to get him drunk enough."

Fili roared with laughter. "That does not happen very often."

"He's too serious for his own good," I said. "But tell me—what does Uncle Thorin do when he's drunk?"

Fili and Kili exchanged excited glances, then Kili leaned forward and said, "He likes to—"

Unfortunately, I never found out what Thorin liked to do when he was drunk, because, at that very moment, a sled being pulled by rabbit flew through the forest trees. A little old man in brown furs clung to the wooden sled, yelling something I could not hear at the top of his lungs. I screamed and cowered behind Fili, while Thorin drew his sword. The rabbits screeched to a halt and the sleigh skid to a stop. The dwarves surrounded the sled, their weapons drawn. Bilbo hung to the back to the group, though I noticed a small blade in his right hand.

"Hold on," said Gandalf, raising his left hand into the air. "This is Radaghast the Brown."

"Who?" I asked.

Gandalf shot me an irritable look, but explained. "He is a wizard of my order." He turned to Radaghast and said, "What are you doing here, old friend?"

"Gandalf," croaked Radaghast. "I was searching for you. The birds told me that I might find you here."

"Why are you searching for me?"

Radaghast opened his mouth to say something. Then he paused. He looked left and then right. Then back to the left. He frowned, and then said, "This kind of business is best spoken in private."

Gandalf glanced around the company of dwarves, his eyes coming to rest on me (who was still hiding behind Fili). "Indeed."

Gandalf and Radaghast moved away from the company. We dismounted from the ponies. The dwarves separated into groups, chattering amongst themselves. To my surprise, Thorin did not follow Gandalf and Radaghast, but rather remained with the dwarves (though he still considered himself far too important to participate in any laborious, common activity like feeding the ponies).

"You're not following the wizards?" I asked.

Thorin snorted (majestically, I might add). "Anyone with half a mind would not meddle in the affairs of wizards. Their business is their own and is often dangerous."

"It is true," said Bofur, joining our conversation. "While it makes a right good tale to hear afterwards, to actually be involved with wizards will often lead to death."

"Ah." I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my navy blue jacket and stood a deep breath. "So. How's your adventure going so far, Thorin?"

Thorin glanced at me. "We have already been put into sacks and almost eaten by trolls. Does that answer your question?"

I frowned. "So you've only just started your adventure?"

Thorin nodded grimly. "Gandalf, me, the other twelve dwarves, and our little burglar."

"Burglar?" I asked.

Thorin jerked his head roughly in the direction of Bilbo.

I blinked and squinted at the little hobbit. "_Him_? A burglar? There must be some mistake."

"That is what we thought," said Bofur. "But Gandalf insists he is a burglar."

"Gandalf's gone mad," I said.

"I will not doubt him," said Thorin. "This adventure was Gandalf's idea. I will trust his judgment."

I shrugged. "You're the majestic king, Thorin."

Thorin opened his mouth to reply when a great growl echoed through the woods around us. I spun in a circle madly, searching for the source of the noise.

"What was that!?" I cried.

"A wolf!" Bilbo clutched his little sword.

"Not a wolf," said Bofur. "There are no wolves in these parts."

Another deep growl—coming from behind. I spun around just inside to see a great hairy warg leaping down a hill towards Nori. Thorin leapt forward and swung his glowing sword. He slashed the warg's head off, embedding the blade into the furry throat. The warg let out a low moan and collapsed at Thorin's feet.

Another roar sounded in response to the warg's death.

Kili strung his bow and released and arrow. The head drove into the left eye of a second warg. The beast howled in agony and Fili stabbed it in the stomach.

"We are under attack!" cried Kili.

"Really!?" I said with a hint of hysteria in my voice. "I hadn't noticed."

"Thorin!" cried Gandalf, rushing through the trees closely followed by Radaghast. "Who did you tell about your quest beyond your own kin?"

"No one!" said Thorin.

"Who did you tell?"

"No one, I swear!"

Gandalf paused and then turned to me, his eyes flashing. "You!"

"Me?" I squeaked. "What about me?" I blinked, realization suddenly coming to me. "Me? No. No. No. I just kind of come and go. Nothing more!"

"That doesn't matter now," said Thorin. "We have more pressing matters."

"How do we outrun wargs?" asked Gandalf."

"We use a diversion," said Radaghast. "I will draw them off."

"They will catch you," said Gandalf. "These are wargs."

"These are Rhosgobel Rabbits—I'd like to see them try."

Gandalf paused. A small smile crept onto his face and he nodded. "Alright. Be careful." He turned to the dwarves. "We must go secretly. The ponies can only hinder us. Quickly! Unload as much as you can off the ponies and let them free."

The dwarves hesitated, reluctant to leave their beasts of burden.

"Hurry!" roared Thorin.

The dwarves rushed to follow Thorin's command. They carried as much food and clothes as they could on their backs and then turned to ponies free. Meanwhile, Radaghast hopped onto his sleigh. A single word of command and the rabbits were off running. He disappeared through the trees and was immediately accompanied by the sound of wargs roaring.

"Come quickly," said Gandalf. "We cannot waste time."

The last of the ponies gallops away, leaving the dwarves on foot. Gandalf lead the way through the forest to an open plain. Wild grass covered the hillside with large rock formations emerging out of the ground. In the distance, I could see Radaghast on his rabbit led sleigh with hoards of wargs and arcs on his tail.

"Quickly!" said Gandalf. He sprinted across the grassy plain to the nearest rock. The dwarves hurried after them as fast as their short, stout legs could carry them. I followed at the end, closely behind Ori and Dori.

"Keep up," hissed Dori.

"I'm running as fast as I can," I snapped.

"Shut up!" said Thorin under his breath.

Gandalf peered around the edge of the rock and, deeming it safe, sprinted in to the dip between to hills. The dwarves followed him. Thorin waited until everyone had passed and moved to the end of the group (after me—because I'm the slow one).

"Run faster!" hissed Thorin.

"I'm sorry!" I said. "I'm not as fast as all you warrior dwarves." I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Thorin had drawn Orcist, his glowing elven sword.

"Whoa!" I said. "Put that thing away!"

"Shut up," said Thorin as we hid behind the next huge rock. "It is in case the wargs detect us."

"Are you sure that's not for me?" I asked suspicious.

"If you keep talking, it will be."

"So not nice!"

"Shut up!"

I did, in fact, shut up after that. But, unfortunately, it was too late. There was a deep growl from the rocks above us. Looking up, I saw a massive warg standing stop the boulder, with a deformed orc sitting on the warg's back. The orc, his white eyes narrowed, was searching the surroundings of the rock. The dwarves, Gandalf, Bilbo, and I pressed our back the base of the rock, hoping the warg would not sense us.

Thorin leaned forward slightly and nodded at Kili.

Kili bowed his head slightly, almost as if he was embarrassed. He fingered the end of an arrow and then leapt out, drawing his bow. He released the arrow and it embedded in the shoulder of the warg. The beast howled and toppled from the rock. Another arrow landed in the forehead of the orc. Thorin slashed open the warg's throat with Orcist. The beast let out a high-pitched scream, struggled on the ground for a moment, and then died.

I stared—wide-eyed—at the dead animal in front of me. It smelled foul, like unwashed dog mixed with decay and dried blood. I clasped my hands over my nose and tried not to breathe in.

"Do not be so weak stomached," said Thorin. "Move!"

"They are coming!" shouted Gandalf from the front of the line.

The company sprinted out onto a hill. Gandalf was headed for a large stone at the top of his hill. He seemed set on his course, refusing to turn left or right despite the approaching wargs.

"We are surrounded!" shouted Kili.

"You think!?" I cried.

Thorin rolled his eyes and sprinted past me. Kili stood atop the hill, firing arrows at the attacking wargs. I sprinted past him, gasping for air.

"Come on," said Fili, hauling me to my feet.

"I'm not that in shape!" I cried.

"Look out!"

I spun around just in time to see the face of a warg—drool, tongue, fangs, claws. The beast was practically on top of me, ready to tear my head off. I screamed and threw my arms over my face.

"Ana!"

"Are you okay?"

I opened my eyes. It was late afternoon. I was sitting on the street outside of the coffee shop. One of the store employees was standing over me. Her dark eyes were wide with a mix of concern and fear. People were sitting outside the coffee shop, staring at me in confusion. Some little old lady in a blue dress had dropped her cup of coffee. It splattered all over the ground and on the hem of her dress.

I blinked. "Um, hi."

The employee took a tentative step away from me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, getting to my feet. "I just, you know, do that from time to time. For fun. Keeps me on my toes, you know." I ran my fingers through my dirty blond hair and sighed. "I'll just, um, being going now."

I spun around and strolled away from the coffee shop.

* * *

**A/N: Check of Majestic Thorin on tumblr. That tag makes my life!**


	4. The Cool Points Scale

**IV: The Cool Points Scale**

"You're firing me?"

I stared at the manager for a second. Rachel did not drop my gaze, but kept a firm look ahead. I sighed and untucked my black waitress shirt.

"I know, I know," I said. "I skipped a day of work with no explanation."

"Sorry," said Rachel. "But we cannot have this kind of irresponsibility—"

"I got it," I said. It wasn't like this was something new to me. The amount of times I have been unable to show up for work because I had Skipped to Middle Earth was countless. The number of times jobs have fired me for not showing up was countless too. It was a fact of life I have learned to live with.

"I'm sorry, Ana," said Rachel. "Honestly, I am."

"I got it." I paused and then grinned at her. "I'll go find work somewhere else. It's not a big deal."

"Ana…"

I turned around and headed right back out of the restaurant. A couple of the restaurant employees waved good-bye to me awkwardly. No one came forward to say anything. Whatever. Let them be.

The restaurant door closed behind me and I stepped out onto the street. It had been two days since my return to this place. Already life had gone from bad to worse. Bonnie and Nick were on the missing persons list, I had missed too many classes, and now I was fired from my job. All this Skipping was ruining my life. Well, that meant there was nothing for it now—what was a new way to risk my life? I needed to Skip back to Middle Earth and continue my search for Bonnie and Nick.

I walked along the sidewalk, my hands in my jacket pockets. Just as I was debating stepping out in front of a car, my cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ana! Hey!"

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"Thanksgiving is coming up soon."

"Yeah?"

"Well, your dad and I were wondering if you were coming home for Thanksgiving."

"Er—maybe." I glanced at a heavy truck that roared by. With my luck, I would Skip to Middle Earth and not come back until Christmas.

"We need a definite answer soon, honey," said Mom. "We need to know how much food to make."

"I'll try," I promised. "If I don't get back to you before…then the answer is no."

I could practically hear Mom frowning through the phone. She did not like that answer.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." I grinned. "But you and Dad don't need me—you like your romantic Thanksgivings together. I don't wanna know what kind of stuff you two get down to on your own."

"Ana…"

"Love you too! Got to go!"

I hung up and slipped the phone back into my pocket. That went well. I sighed and stepped out into the road.

A car horn.

A roar of the crowd.

I opened my eyes and I was standing in the middle of a crowd of soldiers. Men dressed in metal armor. Their sweaty, greasy hair was flying in all directions as they yelled at the top of their lungs. I ducked down and tried to escape the stamping, shouting men. Towards the back of the crowd, a group of women stood, clapping daintily. I stood next to them, though they kept shooting me disgusting looks.

With a little distance between me and the soldiers, I could hear what they were shouting—"Boromir! Boromir! Boromir!"

"Who's Boromir?" I asked the woman closest to me.

She gave me a poisonous glare and edged away.

"Okay…Nice talking to you."

"It is not often we see a woman wearing the clothes of men."

A tall man with dark brown hair and grey eyes stood beside me. He was wearing armor of a different make to the soldiers. The chest bore the same outline of a white tree, but his armor was a deep red.

"And, you are?" I asked.

"Faramir."

I grinned. "Nice to meet you. Then—who is Boromir?"

"Captain of Gondor," said Faramir. "The son of the steward. I am surprised you do not know."

"I'm just passing through. And the soldiers are shouting his name—why?"

"You do speak in a peculiar manner," said Faramir thoughtfully. "Boromir has just returned to the city of Minas Tirith after conquering Osgiliath."

"Ah. Good for him, good for him." I turned to Faramir and frowned. "I'm not anywhere near Rivendell, am I?"

"Rivendell? I have not heard of such a place."

"Right. I'm in Gondor. A long way away from the dwarves."

"Dwarves?" Faramir stared at me incredulously. "You do not hear such talk of dwarves except in myths and legends."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, nodding. "It is a strange thing. Look—it's great for Boromir that he conquered a city, but I have more important things to do. I'm looking for two of my friends who I lost on the way here—there was some, um, turbulence, and they didn't end up in the same spot as me. But I think I ended up in the wrong time period—maybe you could help me?"

Faramir blinked. "Turbulence? Time period?"

"Or maybe not."

"Faramir!"

Faramir and I turned around at the same time to see a broad man with dark brown hair and an easy grin. He wrapped his arms around Faramir's shoulders in a manly hug and then stepped back.

"I do not know why they call my name while you did most of the work."

"Do not be so modest," said Faramir. "You are a noble captain."

"Yes." The man did a double take when he saw me. He grinned at Faramir and said, "And who is this lovely lady wearing a pair of pants?" He laughed. "You do not see that every day."

"I'm Ana," I said. "And you are?"

"Do you not know me?" he asked. "I am Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor, Warden of the White Tower and Steward-Prince of Gondor."

"Yeah…All of that means nothing to me." I turned back to Faramir. "You didn't tell me Boromir was your brother."

Faramir smiled. "I did not think it important."

I shook my head. "You cheeky brat."

Boromir watched our exchanged with narrowed eyes. Then he turned to Faramir and said, "She speaks in strange ways and she is dressed strangely too."

"She is not from here," said Faramir.

"A foreigner!" cried Boromir. "You should have said so!" He grinned at me (he smiles a lot). "Where do you journey from, Lady Ana?"

"Just Ana. From a land far, far, far, far away. I'm looking for some friends of mine and some dwarves. But I don't think they're here…"

"Dwarves?" cried Boromir. "I did not think there were any folk left who believed in such little people." He glanced at me and, observing my height added, "Though I suppose you prove me wrong."

"I'm human," I said. "I just happen to be short." I turned to Faramir. "Is your brother always like this?"

Faramir sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

A couple of well-dressed women who had earlier scorned me stepped forward. They smiled at Boromir (poor Faramir was pretty much ignored).

"Congratulations, Captain," said one woman.

"Thank you, my lady," said Boromir, suddenly serious. "Your words mean much." He turned back to Faramir and his huge smile had return. "Someone bring out the ale!"

"Ale?" I repeated. "You have that here?"

"Yes—do they not have that in your foreign lands?" asked Boromir as his squire (I think that was his squire) brought him two mugs. Boromir handed one to Faramir and then took a long draught of his own.

"They do," I said. "I've never had it before."

"Never had it!" cried one of the women, who had still not given up hope of a conversation yet. "I should think not. It is not becoming of a lady to drink ale with the men."

I stared at her for a good long minute and then I turned back to Boromir. "Bring me some ale—I want to try it."

Boromir seemed rather taken aback for a moment. Then he laughed and called for some more. "I should expect nothing less from a dwarfish woman who wears pants!"

I took my mug of ale and eyed it suspiciously for a second. Then—with smirk at the two noble women—I chugged down the whole mug (I was rather impressed with myself). I laughed and stuck out my tongue at the two women. "Who was it then?" I asked. "Who said a woman would be unbecoming if she drank?"

"She has gone mad," said one of the women. Her friend pulled her away and the two of them left me alone.

Boromir laughed and called for a refill of my mug. Faramir, on the other hand, looked exasperated. He tried to stop Boromir from getting me too drunk, but Boromir (and me) charged ahead into a drinking game.

"I have never seen a woman drink her fill before," said Boromir.

"Because you have no good women around you," I said, taking a huge gulp of ale. "You forget—I'm a dwarf. It is in our nature!" I laughed. "Thorin would skin me alive if he ever found out I claimed to be a dwarf."

"Thorin?"

"Thorin," I said, lifting my ale into the air. "King Under the Mountain! He's majestic." I chugged down the rest of the drink. "More!"

"Drink hardy," said Boromir.

Faramir sighed. "This is going to end in disaster."

"Don't be a party pooper," I said.

"What?"

"It is another of her odd expressions no doubt," said Boromir. "Though I rather like this one. A party pooper."

"It means you're ruining the fun," I said.

"That is Faramir!" cried Boromir, thumping his brother on the back. "You know him so well and yet you have only just met."

"It's called skill," I said, drinking some more. "I'm winning, by the way."

"We cannot have that," said Boromir and he finished off his mug and called for a second.

"He is coming," said Faramir suddenly. He bowed his head and looked firmly at the ground.

I turned around, trying to see who the dreaded one was. It wasn't hard to figure out. A tall, imposing man with gray hair and the same facial features as Faramir and Boromir was approaching. He was not dressed in armor, but rather in lordly, black velvets.

"The fun was only just starting," said Boromir. "And now it must come to an end."

"Oh," I said. "So he's the real party pooper."

"Boromir, my son!" Denethor flung his arms around Boromir's neck, so enthusiastic that Boromir spilled some of his ale. (It no longer counts as a full mug in the game.)

"Father," said Boromir, patting Denethor awkwardly on the back. "Come to congratulate us, have you?" He looked pointed at Faramir.

Denethor released Boromir and stepped back, holding Boromir at arm's length. "You were spectacular, I heard. Led the men into battle with that horn blasting with the strength of Gondor."

"Yes," said Boromir. He handed his mug to me and I took it, helping myself to the ale. Boromir grasped Faramir by the arm and pulled him into the eyesight of Denethor. "Faramir was incredible—did you hear that, Father? His leadership is beyond my capabilities."

"Do not so easily demean yourself," said Denethor. "Faramir knows where his faults lie. He does not need your help to know his worth."

Faramir smiled meekly. "Of course, Father."

"Oh my God!" I cried, sloshing the mug about wildly. "What a messed up family you are!"

Denethor turned to stare at me, his gray eyes narrowed with distaste. "And who might you be, little boy?"

"Boy?" I snorted. (Alcohol does not do kindly to me). "Boy? Do you not see my breasts? I'm obviously female. I mean—sure, I'm wearing pants, but a woman in pants is _not that strange_."

Denethor turned to Boromir. "What is wrong with that one?"

"She has had a bit too much to drink and it has gone to her head," said Faramir, quickly moving to take away my ale.

I pulled the mug away and slapped Faramir lightly on the head. "No. Bad boy. You must listen. Ana has wise words of advice for you."

Boromir was trying to suppress his laughter.

"Your daddy is a mean jerk, but he loves you. He might like Boromir better—but you're awesome too. I like you both and you are both cool—even if your father is rude." I paused and the grinned. "You have the approval of a dwarf. Or the approval of a dwarf approve little person. I don't really know what I am any more. But you're cool."

Boromir had given up trying to hold it in and laughed freely. Denethor just looked plain confused and Faramir was still trying to take the mug of ale away from me. Apparently my wise words weren't appreciated.

"Who is she?" asked Denethor.

"Drunk," said Faramir. "Do not mind her, Father."

"Don't mind me!" I cried. "Faramir! You're losing cool points by the second!"

"I do not even understand what you are saying," said Faramir. "Words are coming from your mouth and yet they have no meaning."

"They mean something!" I cried, taking another long sip of the ale. "I finished another mug—get me some more."

"No more. You are going to drink yourself to sleep," said Faramir.

"Meh. I'm just going to Skip back home."

"What?"

"I'm neither here not there just everywhere." I laughed. "Now that makes no sense."

"She is really drunk," said Boromir. "More ale!"

Someone came scuttling over with two more mugs. Boromir took one and handed me the other.

"Bottoms up," he said.

"I'm still winning." I managed to get down half the mug in one go. "You're winning on the cool points scale, I said."

"What's the cool points scale?" asked Boromir.

"Well," I said. "Faramir has plus five cool points because he talked to me when everyone else was ignoring me. You have plus five cool points because you ignored those annoying noble women. You have plus five cool points because you're having a drinking contest with me. Faramir has plus five cool points because he's Faramir. But then he has minus two cool points because he's trying to stop me from drinking. Oh, and Denethor has minus fifty cool points because he's a crappy dad. Though he is steward of Gondor. That's pretty cool. He's plus three for that. So, in the end, Boromir has a plus ten, Faramir has a plus eight and Denethor is at minus forty-seven."

"And where might you be on the cool points scale?" asked Boromir.

"Do not encourage her," said Faramir.

"I'm at positive fifty thousand."

"This is ridiculous," said Denethor.

"He's just jealous because he's in the negatives."

"I am not jealous of a stupid little girl."

"Nah-ah," I said, waggling my finger at Denethor. "We've already established that I'm a dwarf."

"You are not a dwarf," said Denethor.

"She has dwarf friends," said Boromir. "And she is very small."

"Dwarves are only in myths and legends," said Denethor. "Do not let yourselves be convinced by such child talk."

I rolled my eyes and muttered under my breath, "Party pooper."

"Ah-ha!" Faramir snatched the mug away from me. "No more drinking for you ttonight."

"I can just get it back," I said, reaching for the mug.

Faramir quickly finished off the ale. "Now you cannot."

"More ale!" I called out. Immediately, Boromir's squire handed me a newly filled mug. However, Faramir snatch the mug away before I could get it. He quickly downed that mug too.

"I am only looking out for your well being," said Faramir firmly.

Boromir was laughing again. "I love this dwarf. We need more dwarves in Gondor, Father. They would make life so much more amusing."

"Except for Thorin," I said. "He'd just make Gondor more majestic."

"This is ridiculous. I will not have any more of this," said Denethor. He turned and pointed at me. "This woman is an intruder. She is corrupting my sons and insulted me. Seize her and throw her into the deepest dungeon of Minas Tirith."

"That's a bit of an over reaction!" I said, backing away.

The soldiers had stopped their partying and turned to stare at me. A few of them drew their swords.

"Father!" cried Faramir.

The soldiers were drawing closer.

"Stop—" began Boromir. I never heard what else he had to say, because I Skipped.


	5. The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving

**V: The True Meaning Of Thanksgiving **

For the sake of my health, I decided it would be better not to put myself in any life-threatening situations for awhile. In fact, I did end up making it to Thanksgiving at my parents' house. I showed up on the doorstep of their house the day before and rung the doorbell.

My mother—dressed in her usual tacky turkey sweater—pushed open the door. She beamed at me and flung her arms around my neck. "You made it!"

"I know! I'm surprised too!" I said, hugging her back. "The fact that I called you three days in advance didn't clue me in to the fact that I was coming either!"

"Oh shush, you," said Mom, taking me by the hand a pulling me inside the house. "I haven't seen you in an age!"

"I saw you this summer," I said.

"At the beginning of the summer."

"I was working."

"Right," said Mom.

She led me to the kitchen where her Thanksgiving cooking was sprawled about the marble counter tops. Dad, as balding and as beer-bellied as ever, sat at the kitchen table. He looked up from his book as I approached and a warm smiled spread across his face.

"Ana."

"Hi, Daddy." I kissed him lightly on the cheek before moving to the fridge to get myself a cup of water.

"I see you made it," said Dad.

"Why is everyone surprised when I actually come home when I say I will?"

"Because usually when you say you're coming home—you don't."

I paused. "Yeah. Well, things come up."

Mother busied herself with chopping potatoes. "Never mind. You're home now. You managed to get a few days off work?'

"Er—yeah."

Mom stopped chopping and placed the knife down neatly next to the cutting board. She turned to face me. "Ana. What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing. Are you making the mashed potatoes?"

"Ana. What aren't you telling me?"

I sighed. (Damn mother's intuition—it'll be the death of us all.) "I got fired from my job."

"Again?" she cried. (I was really glad she had put the knife down.)

"What did you do this time?" asked Dad.

"I missed a day of work without warning…"

"Again?" cried Mom.

Dad sighed. "You really…You can't keep track of time, Ana."

I shook my head. "It just sort of skips away from me."

"You're going to have to find a new job," said Mom, turning back to her chopping—though this time she chopped with more force. The continual sound of potatoes being hacked into bite-sized pieces filled the kitchen, punctuating my words.

"I know, Mom. I've been through this before."

"Most of them have already fired you—where will you work now? Hm? Ana? Where?"

"I'll figure something out."

"We cannot afford this. You don't go to work. You miss a lot of classes. We try to call you and your phone is always off—Ana!"

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. "Sorry, Mom. I hope you don't get too many gray hairs because of me."

"I already have gray hairs!"

"Yeah, but you dye them."

Mom's eyes narrowed at me. The knife was clutched in her right hand. Maybe the joke wasn't such a good idea after all. Trying to lighten the mood could be the death of me.

Mom turned back to her chopping, shaking her head and muttering under her breath. However, she said nothing more on the topic so—for the time being—I was safe. God knows how long that would last

* * *

"So, Ana, do you have a man in your life yet?"

I grinned at Aunt Fiona and shook my head. "The only man in my life is Nick."

"That nancy boy you hang out with? Goodness child! How do you survive? I don't think I could last nearly as long without a great hunk of a man to pass my nights with." Fiona elbowed her current boyfriend, Jason, in the ribs.

"Really?" said my mother. "At the dinner table?" She turned to me and added, "You don't need a, um, hunk of a man in your life, Ana. You just be your own woman."

"I don't know," said Dad. "Fiona speaks the truth—Nick really is a nancy boy."

Fiona laughed and took another long sip of her wine. "Galin's on my side."

Mom sighed. "I can't win here, can I? My daughter is doomed to think she needs a man in her life to be successful."

"Cheer up, Sis," said Fiona, patting Mom on the shoulder. "Since Ana still hasn't gotten a man—we can assume she takes after you."

"I think she takes after her dad," said Mom.

"I think I take after the milk man," I said, cheerfully helping myself to more mashed potatoes.

"Oh, she's a rotten one," said Fiona. "Pass me the cranberries, will you?"

"Only if you pass me the gravy." I picked up the bowl of red-pink berries and handed them to Fiona, taking the gravy boat for myself. "He was one good-looking milk man. I remember. He was my first love."

"The milk man?" asked Mom.

"Don't pretend to be innocent," I said. "You used to ogle at him too."

"I'm going to pretend I can't hear this," said Dad.

"How come I never saw this milk man?" asked Fiona. "Lexie—Why didn't you let me see the milk man?"

"You sound like a child whose toy has just been taken away," said Mom. "This was years ago. Back when Ana was five—Ana? You were _five_ and you had a crush on the milk man?"

I shrugged. "He was a sexy milk man."

"Aw!" cried Fiona. "I'm mad at you two. Keeping this secret away from me."

"It was a mother-daughter bonding experience," I said.

"Not when you were five!" Mom looked to Dad for help, but he was busy helping himself to more turkey. He offered some to Jason, who politely refused.

"It's excellent," said Jason quickly. "My compliments to the chef—I'm just stuffed."

"Eat hearty," I said. "The dwarves would be ashamed of you."

"Dwarves?" asked Fiona.

I took a huge bite of mashed potatoes. Sometimes it gets hard to keep my two lives separate. Comments about dwarves should be saved for Middle Earth—not at the Thanksgiving dinner table with my family. I tried to answer Fiona, but the mouthful of mashed potatoes prevented me.

"Calm down! Calm down!" cried Mom, patting me on the back. "Chew and swallow—then answer."

I coughed and managed to get down the mashed potatoes. "Man, that was a near-death experience."

"Please," said Fiona. "You've been in many far worse near death experiences in your life than that."

"Really?" Jason leaned forward eagerly. "Like what?"

"Well, twice she almost got hit by a car," said Fiona. "The first time was a truck actually. The truck swerved to avoid her and we all looked about wildly, but Ana was no where to be seen. Then five minutes later she turns out to be on the other side of the road—far, far away from the truck."

"Nearly gave me a heart-attack," said Mom. Dad sipped his wine patiently.

"The second time was when she was ten. I wasn't there this time, but from what Lexie told me, they were out for dinner one night. One moment they were eating bread and the next, Ana's gone. Lexie and Galin searched everywhere for Ana—"

"We found her playing in the street," said Mom. "We called out her name—she looked up—and there's a car coming."

"I didn't get hit by the car," I said.

"It was a close call," said Mom.

"You certainly don't have a lot of luck with cars," said Jason.

"That's not even the worst of her near-death experiences," said Mom. "She fell into the Grand Canon one day."

"I didn't actually," I said, lying through my teeth. "I slipped and fell a little ways. They thought I was lost—but actually I just sort of landed a few feet down on a pathway. It was easy to climb back up."

"That can't be healthy," said Jason.

"While I have a certain number of near death experiences," I said. "I am incredible lucky."

"I wouldn't call that luck," said Mom, shaking her head.

"What would you call it then?" I asked. "I managed to survive them all."

"Yes," said Dad. "That's why they're called near-death experiences. I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for dessert."

"And what do we have for dessert today?" asked Fiona.

"Pound cake," said Mom. "With a cherry sauce on top."

"My favorite," said Fiona. "You must have known I was coming."

"I always know you're coming." Mom stood up, tucking her chair in. "It doesn't matter if I invite you or not, you show up anyway."

Fiona laughed. "You know me too well."

"On the other hand," said Mom. She picked up some of the plates and headed for the kitchen. "I invite Ana and she says she's coming, but she never turns up."

"Sorry," I said. "Things come up, you know."

"And miss out on that pound cake?" asked Fiona. She shrugged. "It just means all the more for me."

"I love pound cake," I said. "Though Dad's rum pots are really good."

Dad grinned at me. "We only make those when your mother isn't home though."

I rolled my eyes and, for Jason's benefit, said, "Mom doesn't believe dessert and alcohol should go together." I got up as well and picked up the remaining plates. I followed Mom to the kitchen where she was washing the dirty plates and putting them in the dishwasher.

Mom glanced over at me. "You know I was only joking about the never coming home thing." She paused to put a glass in the dishwasher. "Though you know it's true. It can't be that difficult to say—this is Thanksgiving. I am going to my parents' house—it's things like this that get you fired!"

"I _know_." I tried to say more, but Mom cut across me.

"Can you get the silverware for me?"

I nodded and headed back out to the dinning room. Fiona had already picked up the silverware so I picked up the half-empty serving dishes—lots of leftovers to eat.

"Is your mom giving you a hard time yet?" asked Dad.

"Yes. Are you going to come save me?"

"I'll let you too duke it out."

"Thanks, Dad. It's nice to know you've got my back."

I headed back to the kitchen, passing Fiona on the way out of the dinning room. She smiled at me and disappeared from sight. I stared down at the kitchen. Mom was waiting for me. Then the usual mother-daughter argument would come up. She'd yell at me. I'd yell at her. Never ending. On and on and on. Poor Jason. He didn't know what he was getting into. I took a deep breath and took a step forward.

I disappeared. One moment I was standing in the middle of the hallway, holding a china bowl filled with turkey stuffing in one hand and a china bowl filled with cranberry sauce in the other. The next moment—nothing. I was no longer in that world.

"What kind of sorcery is this!?"

I blinked. One, twice, three times. I was still holding the turkey stuffing and the cranberry sauce. The dishes weighed heavily on my hands. I blinked again. I was standing in some sort of meeting chamber. A group of people in all shapes and sizes sat in a semi circle in front of me. I blinked again. There was a large group of elves—tall and slender with fair faces. Elladan and Elrohir were amongst them. To their right, a few dwarves were gathered. One dwarf I recognized—he had untamable red hair (though now it had streaks of silver) and a rugged face: Gloin. Next to him was a dwarf who shared his likeness. Most likely a relative. I did not recognize the other dwarves, though I did recognize the man to their right—Boromir. He stared at me incredulously, his jaw somewhere around floor level. There was another man next to Boromir. He had dark hair and proud features—highly attractive if I might say so. To his right was Gandalf, still dressed in gray, and to Gandalf's right was a small hobbit—an older version of Bilbo Baggins.

Everyone was staring at me incredulously. A long silence stretched through the council room. Jaws were wide open. Mouths were quiet. No one understood how I had got there or even why I was there in the first place. I didn't even know where I was. I could only stare at them blankly.

"What sorcery is this?" asked a deep voice from behind me.

I turned around and saw a tall elf with long brown hair and an ageless face. Elrond sat upon an elegantly carved chair at the head of the council. In front of him was a circular stone table on which there was placed a single golden ring. Another—albeit much younger—hobbit stood next to the stone table, gawking at me.

I glanced at the elf. I glanced at the council. I glanced at the hobbit. I glanced at the ring. I glanced at the bowls of food in my hand.

"Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!"

I held out the bowl of stuffing to Elrond. "Would you like some? I have cranberry sauce as well. Though the turkey stuffing has always been my favorite."

"Ana?"

I turned around and saw Boromir. He was half-risen from his chair, still staring at me as though he could not believe his eyes.

"Hey!" I said. "I totally won that drinking competition, by the way."

"You forth from the ring," said Boromir.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," said Boromir. "The Halfling placed the ring on the table and you appeared in the middle of our council."

I glanced back at the golden ring behind me. It seemed like a small thing. Well, already that small thing was causing me problems. I turned back to Boromir. "Man—I thought you had some sense. Why on Earth would I come out of a little tiny ring? I wouldn't even fit in there!"

"Devilry," murmured one of the dwarves.

"Oh don't be so ridiculous," I said. "I Skipped here. I just happen to have, um, very bad timing…"

"Ana?" croaked Bilbo. "Ana—is that really you? You have not aged a day."

I turned to Bilbo and managed a huge grin for him. "Actually, in my world it has only been a month since I last saw you. How long has it been for you?"

"Almost eighty years," said Bilbo.

I smiled at his white hair and time-worn face. "You look good for a hobbit over one-hundred years. I'm impressed."

"You know her?" asked Elrond incredulously.

"Of course."

It was not Bilbo who spoke. It was Elladan. He remained seated rather comfortably amongst his kin. He had not aged a day since last I saw him. He was still incredibly attractive. (Curse those elves!)

"You know her?" asked Elrond.

Elladan nodded.

"We met her once in Lorien," said Elrohir. "Though she was much younger then. Galadriel did not detect her entry into the forest. Her presence appeared suddenly, so much so that Galadriel was confused."

"It must be some sort of devilry," said a dwarf.

"_Senturiel_," said Elladan.

"I have no idea what that means," I said. "But it's not devilry. I just sort of…Skipped there."

"She does indeed come and go at unpredictable times," said Gandalf. "I met her once on the road to Erebor with Thorin and Company."

"Thorin!" I cried. "That old goat! How's he doing? I wish he was here. No council can be complete without his majesty!" I turned to Gloin, expecting him to have something to say, but a dark shadow crossed Gloin's face and he did not answer.

"He fell," said Bilbo.

"Oh." I paused. "So nobody wants stuffing?"

"What is this stuffing?" asked Boromir, eyeing the dishes in my hands.

"It's a mix of seasonings and bread and turkey and sausage," I said. "It goes best with some gravy drizzled on top of it, but—you know—I didn't really realize I was going to come here, so I just sort of had to make do."

"It looks poisonous," said Elrohir, examining the cranberry sauce.

"It's good," I said. "My people make it for a holiday called Thanksgiving. It commemorates our coming to the New World and how the native people held us survive the first winter. Of course, we then proceeded to kill them off and take their land by force—but we tend to ignore that part of our history for the sake of the holiday."

"And in such fashion are many a people's celebrations," said Aragorn (the man sitting beside Boromir).

"I will," said Bilbo. "I was not permitted second breakfast today and this council has dragged on far too long as it is."

"Of course!" I sat down in the empty seat next to Bilbo (Sorry, Frodo, I didn't realize it was yours at the time) and handed him the bowl of turkey stuffing. He used the serving spoon to gobble down the dish and—in no time at all—the bowl was empty and he had moved on to the cranberries.

Elrond sighed. "Now that the _Senturiel_ has had her say—"

"The what?" I asked.

"—We need to reach a decision."

"About what?" I asked.

"The Ring," said Bilbo.

I glanced at the little golden circle placed on the stone table. It was a tiny thing—nothing special about it. I mean, sure it was pretty, but it was just a ring.

"What about it?"

"It is the Ring of Power created by Sauron," said Bilbo. "Sauron sits in Mordor and plots to destroy us all. His power is kept at bay at the moment because he does not have the One Ring." Bilbo gestured to the little golden ring sitting on the stone table. "We now find ourselves in the possession of the One Ring and now we must decide what to do with it."

"Oh," I said. "That's good. Can we use it against him?"

"It will destroy anyone who tries," said Gandalf. His eyes narrowed and he glowered at me. "Gollum is a deformed creature who possessed the Ring for a long time and was consumed by its power."

"Okay, okay," I said. "I missed that part of the conversation! So we can't use the Ring—"

"We can try," said Boromir suddenly. "Take the Ring to Gondor. Our people have long held off the forces of Mordor and kept the lands of Middle Earth safe from the might of Sauron. We should bring the Ring to Gondor for my father—"

"To your father?" I asked incredulously. "I'm sorry, but if there's any weapon of power—I don't care if it's a teaspoon—I would not let it within ten feet of your father. He's a nutter if I ever saw one."

Boromir smirked. "You are upset because he tried to have you arrested when you last saw him."

"Well, yeah, but even then—"

"It does not matter if we brought the Ring to Gondor or to Rohan," said Aragorn suddenly. "No man or dwarf or elf or hobbit can wield the One Ring. It answers to Sauron and Sauron alone."

"Tom Bombadil was unaffected by the Ring's power," said Elrond thoughtfully. "What if we gave the Ring to him for safe keeping?"

"Wait!" I cried. "Who is Tom Bombadil?"

"Who let her stay in the meeting?" asked Elrond.

"Frodo met Tom Bombadil while he was escaping from the Shire. Tom Bombadil tried on the Ring of Power and it did not render him invisible to the eye or have any influence over him. Tom Bombadil was first among all things and he will be last among all things. The world has no hold over him."

"Oh," I said. "Well that's handy. He'd be a good guy to leave the Ring with."

"We cannot leave the Ring with Bombadil," said Gandalf.

"Never mind."

"Bombadil will not leave his lands and he would not accept such an evil thing unless all the peoples of Middle Earth begged him otherwise. But even then, Bombadil would soon forget about it or throw it away. Anyway, Sauron's darkness would spread across Middle Earth, until only Bombadil remained. We would only prolong evil."

"An unwise choice, then," said Elrond. "In that case, we have but one choice. To destroy the Ring in the fires of Orodruin from whence it came."

"And, um, what is Orodruin?" I asked.

There was a collective groan amongst the people assembled. Bilbo, however, turned to me and explained. "It is the Mountain of Fire in the heart of Mordor where Sauron forged the One Ring. It is the only place that the Ring can be destroyed."

"Oh. Well, that seems like a good idea."

Boromir sighed. "One does not simply walk into Mordor."

"Can we fly?" I asked. "Gandalf is a wizard."

"I cannot fly," said Gandalf.

"But the eagles can fly," said Gloin thoughtfully. "The eagles rescued us before when we were attacked by wargs."

"The eagles will not carry us into Mordor," said Gandalf.

"Why not?" I asked. "Oh. Okay, I get it." I turned to the council and said, "They're busy doing important eagle stuff. Like making nests. They have to gather twigs. That's very important eagle stuff. They don't mind coming and helping if you're in danger of being attacked by wargs, but if it's not immediate dangers, they have their eagle business to go about. They're sort of like the ambulance of Middle Earth."

Everyone stared at me blankly.

"I do not understand a word that comes from her mouth," said a blond elf. "She opens her mouth and words come out, but they have no meaning."

"She talks funny," said one of the dwarves.

I sighed. "Never mind."

"We cannot fly in," said Gandalf. "We must enter by stealth."

"Yes," said Elrond. "A long a perilous journey it will be. Nine companions, I think, will suit the journey best. Nine companions to go against the nine ringwraiths."

"Nine what?" (Do I have to tell you who asked this question?)

"Ringwraiths or Nazgul, as they are also called," said Aragorn. "They became bewitched under Sauron's power and have become servants of the One Ring. They have no visible form, but they wear black cloaks when dealing with corporeal beings. They are servants of Sauron who will stop at nothing to regain the Ring."

"Okay," I said. "So more dangerous stuff. This journey sis starting to sound like fun."

Silence accompanied my words and everyone present stared at me incredulously (except Boromir who was trying to hold in his laughter).

"Sarcasm," I said.

"Right," said Gandalf. "That was a…delightful distraction."

"The question still remains," said Elrond. "Who will take the Ring to Mordor?"

A heavy silence filled the room. No one would look directly at Elrond. Eyes fluttered this way and that, looking around the room to see if anyone else was willing to take this monumental task.

And then, a soft voice said, "I will take it. I will take the Ring to Mordor. Though I do not know the way."

Elrond nodded. "From all that I have heard, Frodo Baggins. This task was meant for you. If you do not find a way, no one will. It is a heavy burden and I do not force it upon you, but if you accept the task, then may the blessings of all peoples go with you."

Frodo looked kind of sick, but he did not deny Elrond's words.

"Hey! Hey! You cannot be sending Mr. Frodo to Mordor alone!"

From a concealed corner, a chubby hobbit leapt up. Sam sprinted across the room to stand by Frodo's side.

"You're not sending Mr. Frodo anywhere without me."

"How rude of him!" I said. "Interrupting a secret council meeting—the nerve!"

Gandalf rolled his eyes. I can't imagine why.

* * *

**A/N: Hey. So, I hate college and college applications. Can I just go work at the gas station? **


	6. The Almighty Sword Breaker

**VI: The Almighty Sword Breaker**

Have you ever met Arwen, the daughter of Elrond? I don't know if you have, but that woman is gorgeous. Not just in appearance (it's obnoxious how beautiful she is), but also in personality. She's tall and slender with the ageless beauty of elves, but at the same time, she has this sort of eternal youthfulness and cheer to her. She's always gracious and smooth. God, she makes me feel like a fat turtle waddling along beside her. I aspire to one day be a woman like that. I told that to Thorin once. He laughed at me. Thorin's a jerk.

Well, I spent a good long time in the House of Elrond. I think it ended up being about two months. I don't know exactly. I stayed as long as the Fellowship stayed. Elrond spent those two months deciding who should go with Frodo and Sam on this dangerous quest. Gandalf was the obvious choice (apparently this was supposed to be his great task or something like that). Beyond that, Elrond took some time figuring out who should go. It was also the middle of winter (the council took place at the end of November), and no one wanted to leave only to meet snow and bad weather. So, the still unformed Fellowship remained in Rivendell for the next two months. And, since I did not Skip away, I remained with them.

But I'm getting off topic. I was singing praises of Arwen the Evenstar. I met her on my second night staying in Rivendell. I was sitting outside chatting with Boromir about the happenings of Minas Tirith, when a couple stepped out onto the porch overlooking the valley.

They were the most beautiful couple I had ever seen. I could only gawk at them in awe.

"You are about to lose your eyes," said Boromir. "They will be rolling along the ground for someone to step on."

"Shut up," I said. "Who's that?"

"You do not recognize him?" asked Boromir. "That is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a Ranger from the north, and _supposedly_ heir to the throne of Gondor."

I did a double take. Aragorn had been handsome when I had first seen him in Elrond's council, but now—standing beside the woman—he looked ridiculously handsome.

"Who's he with?" I asked.

"Arwen. Elrond's daughter."

"She could be a super model!"

Boromir furrowed his eyebrows and smiled. "You say the oddest things, Ana."

"I'm saying that she's really, really beautiful. Does someone like that exist?"

"She is an elf," said Boromir. "They have an irritating tendency to be that way."

As if she heard us (which was impossible since she was on the other side of the porch), Arwen turned around and smiled. "Why thank you, Ana."

I blinked. "You're even more dazzling from the front. Like the brightest star fell from the sky and started walking about Earth."

Boromir rolled his eyes. "Are you drunk again?"

"I don't think so…"

Arwen smiled. "You are a flatterer beyond a doubt."

"Meh, I do try." Arwen led Aragorn over to sit in chairs next to Boromir and me.

"So," I said. "What's the juicy news on you two?"

Arwen and Aragorn exchanged confused glances. "I am afraid," said Arwen. "That we do not understand your meaning."

"She wants to know the relationship between the two of you," said Boromir.

"You understand her strange manner of speaking?" asked Arwen.

"After prolonged periods of exposure to her speech, you come to understand her strangeness," said Boromir. "That and if you are able to understand her when she has had a bit too much to drunk, then her normal speech is not so difficult."

"Look at this," I said. "Boromir is now an expert on me."

Arwen laughed. "I would be very interested in seeing Ana drunk."

"No, you don't," I said. "It usually results in arrest. Also, you haven't answered my questions—what's going on between you and Aragorn?"

"We are long time beloveds," said Arwen.

"Oh good," I said. "Because you two make a great couple—don't you think, Boromir?"

"What?" Boromir paused and the grinned. "Sure."

"Exactly," I said. "Boromir agrees with me so it must be true."

"And where does this logic come from?" asked Arwen.

"Hello?" I said. "Look at him! This is Boromir! _Boromir_, I tell you! If he says something's true then it's true—end of story."

A faint smile crossed Aragorn's face. "You have no idea what you are saying, do you?"

"Nope."

Arwen, Aragorn, Boromir, and I talked long into the night. It was near dawn before we realized it was past our bedtimes. That's the funny thing about Rivendell. You can never really tell what time it is. The sun is really the only indicator. The days passed by quickly. We feasted and then partied almost every night. Not all the elves were as serious and straight-laced as Elrond. Most elves were party animals, like Elladan. The amount of drinking competitions those twins dragged me into—it was beyond numbers.

During my time in Rivendell, I had many meetings—some good and some bad. I could sit here an recount all my experiences in Rivendell to you, but then this story would last an eternity—and we just don't have time for that. So, I'll tell you the parts that are important to the rest of my story.

Some time near the beginning of December, I was seated next to four small hobbits (Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin). I think I was placed at their table because of my vertically challenged nature, but I can't be sure. After eating an exceedingly large dinner, the four hobbits reclined in their seats and began talking.

"I cannot believe that Sam was _rewarded_ for spying on a secret council," said Pippin.

"It is hardly a reward," said Frodo. "Rather than a reward, it is the most terrible punishment Elrond could think of."

"Even then," said Pippin. "I would be ashamed to be left behind now. Not after we have come so far with you, Frodo."

Frodo smiled. "Thank you, Pippin—but I fear the road from here has become too dangerous."

"Everybody always thinks they'll be great on adventures," I said.

The hobbits all turned to me, their faces knotted with confusion.

"Whenever people imagine themselves on adventures," I said. "They think of themselves as a swashbuckler who will be brave in terrible situations and say witty things. But reality is nothing like that. Most people with scream and wet themselves at the first sign of serious danger. I'm in the latter category. Though I don't think I've wet myself yet. It may happen in the future…I don't know…I'll let you know if it ever happens. But Frodo is right. The road ahead won't be anything like what you're imagining it to be."

The hobbits stared at me.

"So…" said Merry slowly. "We're all going to wet ourselves?"

"What is a swashbuckler?" asked Sam. "Can you cook it?"

"I think it is a piece of clothing," said Pippin. "Maybe a hat."

I sighed. "I give these speeches of great depth and no one understand what I'm talking about."

"Oh," said Frodo. "Was that supposed to be insightful?"

"Never mind."

At this point, Boromir had finished his meal and decided to come join me at the hobbits' table. He brought with him two pints of ale—one for him and one for me.

"A continuation of a competition," said Boromir.

"Bottoms up," I said, and downed the mug.

"A drinking competition?"

Elladan materialized beside me, an evil grin spreading across his face. "Let me see the effects of our training."

"Shut up," I said, reaching for another mug of ale. "You're making me nervous."

"I feel guilty challenging you to a drinking competition when you're wearing a dress," said Boromir. "The ladies of Gondor would never be caught in such a shameful, manly activity."

"Meh, let me be manly," I said. "Pants are so much more comfortable than this elven dress. Though it is very pretty." I added the last part with a quick nod at Arwen, who was passing by. She smiled and continued on to Aragorn's table.

"Have you found the ale again?" asked Elrohir, joining his brother at the table.

"She is learning to—what was the phrase—drink like a _man_." Elladan laughed.

"That is no good," said Elrohir. "If she drinks like a man, she will be dead to the world within minutes. No, Elladan. We must teach her to drink like an elf."

"Do you have a problem with the way men drink?" asked Boromir. He finished off his second mug of ale and reached for another.

"You do not drink poorly—for a mortal," said Elrohir. "But to drink like an elf…It takes a potent alcohol to touch an elf."

"You know," I said, beginning my third mug. "You all drink like Gondor women. The true drinkers are the women who wear pants. You never know what we're hiding in those breeches, hm?"

"You are making that up," said Elrohir.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, she is." Boromir took a sip of ale. "Like she makes up half the things she says."

"I did not need Boromir to tell me she was lying," said Elladan. "I have seen Ana drink before—she cannot even rival the drinking ability of a Halfling."

"Excuse us!" cried Merry. "We can drink very well when we see fit."

"Oh?" said Boromir. "Would you like to prove us wrong? Join us—or forever be called poor drinkers."

"Two pints!" said Pippin. "We accept your challenge, Boromir of Gondor."

The drinking game went on for quite some time. Elrohir won. Elladan was a close second, though he continues to insist that it was a tie. I don't know who came third or anything after that since I was the first one to fall unconscious. As you can imagine, they never let me hear the end of it. Not the elves. Not the man. Not even the hobbits. It just wasn't fair. The drinking games became a common occurrence. We would hold one once a week during our time in Rivendell. Most of us needed a few days to recover from the massive hangovers we would have the next morning. The elves, however, returned to their usual playful selves the next morning. The rest of us cursed them while clutching our aching heads and hiding in the safety of our beds. Eventually Gimli and Legolas joined the group. (Legolas became the reigning champion almost instantaneously. There's just something about those Mirkwood elves…)

Eventually, Elrond announced who the members of the Fellowship would be. Frodo would, of course, be the Ring-Bearer and Sam would go with him. Gandalf was the leader of the Fellowship. Aragorn, since he was to be the king of Gondor one day, joined the numbers. Representing the race of elves was Legolas of Mirkwood and representing the race of dwarves was Gimli, son of Gloin. Boromir agreed to travel with the Fellowship as far as Gondor. Finally, Merry and Pippin were chosen for reasons which I will never really understand. The time when they would have to depart loomed closer.

My days in Rivendell were enjoyable. I was there for a good two months—which meant my parents would be horrified. I had just disappeared from the house—taking the good china with me! At times, I debated if I should try to get one of the dwarves so angry that he would attack me and I would Skip back home. But Rivendell was so enjoyable that I could not force myself to leave. No, I stayed in Rivendell as long as I could.

And then, one day, I decided to ask Boromir to teach me how to use a sword.

That was a mistake.

We headed out to a courtyard in Rivendell (unfortunately a very public courtyard). Boromir had found a short sword for me to borrow. He taught me how to hold it and how to strike. And then we practiced.

Oh my God! I failed miserably! One, two, three—Ana is on her back. Let's try again! One, two—Ana has fallen on her butt. Again! One, two, three, four—Ana just face planted. Again! One—Ana's on her back again.

"It takes practice," said Boromir.

I rubbed my aching butt and got back to my feet. "We've been at this for an hour and I haven't made an ounce of improvement."

"Well, yes," said Boromir. "I do not think I have ever seen anyone quite as bad as you. But even you can learn eventually…I think."

"It's nice to know you have so much confidence in me," I said.

"I do not know why you are so insistent that you learn—not many women can use a sword."

"Yes," I said. "But not many women find themselves dropped into life-threatening situations every day."

"I have not noticed any threats in Rivendell—except maybe too much to drink."

"Yeah, yeah. Rivendell is a safe place. Honestly, if I could retire somewhere for the rest of my life, I might just retire in Rivendell. Of course, I guess you wouldn't be here or Merry or Pippin or Gimli or Legolas. So there'd be a lot less drinking games."

"You do like to drink," said Boromir.

"I wasn't always this way. I used to think drinking was for people who had no lives." I grinned. "And then you and those stupid Gondor women challenged me to a drinking game."

"The women did not challenge you."

"My manliness was at stake."

"Right. As we have established—you are a manly she-dwarf."

I laughed and lifted my sword. "Again?"

"Come."

It took a whole two seconds for me to end up back on the ground.

"This is humiliating!" I wailed.

"I agree. I was only watching and I felt embarrassed."

I looked over my shoulder and saw Legolas approaching. My eyes skimmed over his ridiculously good-looking face to the quiver of arrows on his back.

"Ah-ha!" I cried, leaping to my feet. "Teach me to shoot!"

"Have you given up already?" asked Boromir.

"We all know I'm never going to be good at swordsmanship," I said. "But maybe I'll have good aim! I was pitcher for my little league baseball team when I was eight. Though I guess that's a different kind of aim—but still. Aim is aim."

"I do not comprehend," said Legolas.

'That doesn't matter!" I cried. "Teach me to shoot!"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you will be terrible at it."

"You don't know that!"

Legolas stared at me.

I sighed. "Okay, yeah, you're right. I shouldn't have asked."

"That is a bit harsh," said Boromir. "She just wants to learn how to fire a bow."

"She will end up snapping the bow in two," said Legolas.

"You have no way of knowing that."

"Actually," I said. "He's probably right. If I had a bow, I wouldn't trust me with it either. Wait…That doesn't make sense. If I had a bow…But I don't have a bow…If you had a bow, you wouldn't lend it to me either."

"Well, yeah…"

"What has the elf done now?"

A fourth member joined our group in the courtyard. The short and stout Gimli, with his axe resting his shoulder stood next to us, narrowed his eyes at Legolas.

"Nothing you would not have done," said Legolas.

"Hm. We shall see about that," said Gimli. He turned to me. "How can I be of service?"

"I'm trying to find a weapon that I'm semi-good at," I said. "The sword lessons with Boromir are a disaster and Legolas thinks I will break his bow—which I probably will."

"Look not further!" cried Gimli. "I will teach you to wield and axe."

Legolas sighed. "This will end badly."

"I do not think she can break an axe though," said Boromir.

"I would not put it past her."

"Here," said Gimli, handing me the axe. "Hold it. Feel the metal between your fingers. It is heavy? Yes. That is how a weapon is supposed to feel like—not some light weighted flimsy thing that can break so easily." Gimli glared at Legolas.

I gripped the handle of the axe. It was heavy. I probably couldn't lift the thing above my head.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked.

"No," said Boromir.

"Definitely not," said Legolas.

"Sure, it is!" said Gimli. "In fact, I'm so sure—we will use the elf for target practice."

Legolas's eyes grew very wide. "I do not like this idea very much."

"Relax, Mister Elf," said Gimly, thumping Legolas on the shoulder. "Or are you frightened of the little girl."

Legolas frowned. Then, he turned to me and said, "Alright, Ana. I will be the target. I would not be called an elf if I could not dodge an attack by you."

Boromir shook his head. "This is going to end very badly."

"Alright," I said, gripping the axe. "Are you ready?"

"Gimli," said Boromir. "You have not even shown her how to hold the axe correctly."

"She will be fine," said Gimli. "She has natural instinct for axes, I tell you."

Legolas nodded at me. "Come."

I don't know how Gimli managed to convince any of us this was a good idea. It wasn't. I charged at Legolas and attempted to swing the heavy axe at him. I barely managed to lift the axe off the ground. Instead, I tripped over the handle and face planted on the ground. The blade went flying. Boromir managed to dodge it at the last second, but the end of Gimli's beard was chopped off.

"Well," said Legolas. "That went well."

"My beard! My beard!" cried Gimli in horror. "You cut off my beard!"

"I didn't mean to!" I said, quickly getting to my feet. "It still looks just as long and luscious."

"You-you-you beard defiler!"

For a moment, Boromir looked shocked. Then a wide grin spread across his face and he burst out laughing. "Ana the Beard Defiler—it has a nice ring to it."

"I think he looks better this way," said Legolas.

"How would you like it if I took my axe and cut off all your long blond hair?" asked Gimli.

Legolas smiled. "I do not think you can reach that high."

"You—"

Gimli's response was cut short by the arrival of Elladan and Elrohir. The two elves strolled into the courtyard. Broad grins were plastered on their identical faces.

"What is all the fuss about?" asked Elladan. "We heard from some elves that a Lonely Mountain dwarf and a Mirkwood elf were about to fight."

"It's not my fault!" I cried.

Elrohir laughed. "Ana—that means it is most certainly your fault."

"I just wanted to learn how to fight…"

"And Gimli let her borrow his axe," said Boromir, still laughing a little. "It ended with his beard a few inches shorter."

"Ah," said Elrohir. "Well, dwarves are particularly fond of their beards."

"If you wanted to learn how to fight, you should have come straight to me," said Elladan. "I have just the weapon for you."

"You do?"

"The Sword Breaker."

Elladan pulled out a sheathed knife that was strapped to his side. He handed it to me. I took it, though I eyed his smiling face suspiciously. A happy Elladan was never a good Elladan.

Slowly, I unsheathed the knife. It was not actually a knife. One side was like a regular dagger, but the other side was toothed with slots in the blade. I inspected the knife carefully, wondering if this was some sort of joke.

"This?"

Elladan nodded proudly. "The Sword Breaker."

"It's not even pointy."

"Stabbing is not the point of the Sword Breaker," said Elrohir.

"You use it to take away another person's sword," explained Elladan. He took the blade from me and demonstrated. "If you hold the toothed side up, you can catch another person's sword between the slots. Then you twist it to the side—see here. Then you will tear their swords from their hands."

I squinted. "The weird looking comb _would_ be a perfect weapon for me."

Elladan laughed and handed the Sword Breaker back to me. "Keep it, _Senturiel_. It's yours now."

I had one last look at the Sword Breaker before I sheathed it again. "I don't even know if I can use this properly."

"At least you have a weapon to cal your own now," said Boromir.

"And not someone else's axe," added Legolas.

I grinned. "True." I turned to Elladan and said, "Why do you call me—"

Skip.

"—_Senturiel_?"


	7. One Dwarf Short

**VII: One Dwarf Short**

My parents' kitchen had not changed during the two months I had been away. Of course, all the Thanksgiving dishes were put away—but it had the same black marble counter tops and the same wooden table and the same beige tiles. I glanced around. I was still holding the Sword Breaker. Quickly, I stuffed the sheathed blade into my jeans pocket.

"Ana? Ana!"

I spun around.

Mom stood in the hallway. She clutched the door frame and stared at me. For a moment, it looked as though she might faint. Then, she stepped forward and flung her arms around my shoulders.

"Where have you been?"

"Sorry," I said. "Something came up."

"You just disappeared!" cried Mom. "And you took the good china with you!"

"Oops. It was an emergency."

Mom released me and stepped back. She beamed at me, showing all of her white teeth. "Galin! Galin! Look who's back!"

There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and then my father appeared in the hallway just behind my mother. A faint smile crossed his face when he saw me.

"You're back."

I nodded. "I got a little lost."

"A little lost?" cried Mom. "You were gone for two months! You missed Christmas!"

"Oh."

"Why am I so surprised? You do this sort of thing all the time. One moment, you're at home nice and safe—the next thing I know, something came up! And you're gone! I don't see or hear from you again!"

"Yeah…" I turned to Dad and grinned. "So did you save me any Christmas presents?"

"They're in the hall closet," said Dad. "We figured you'd show up eventually."

"Thanks. I'll open them tomorrow. I'm kind of tired…" (Trying to avoid Mom's rants more like).

"You know where your room is."

I stepped past my mother and gave Dad a quick hug. I started for the stairs, trying to ignore my mother's protests. I climbed the staircase and headed to the door farthest down the hallway.

Two whole months… My parents hadn't brought it up, but college was over for the semester. I had not taken exams. I had not even shown up for class most days. There was no way that ollege was possibility right now.

I opened my bedroom door and stepped inside. It had not changed since I was twelve and thought Boy Bands were the best thing since chocolate. Posters of good-looking young men covered my peach-colored walls and the bedspread was hot pink. Yep. This would be my room.

I closed the door behind me—and found myself standing outside a circular green door. I blinked. Well that was weird.

I was standing on someone's front doorstep. A hobbit, from the size of the door. The sun was setting on the horizon and the sky was dyed a deep purple. The rolling green hills of the Shire looked beautiful even in the dark. I stood outside the highest hobbit hole on the hill. From the front gate, a winding pathway descended down to the town itself. There were no hobbits out walking this late at night. Most were down in the town at the tavern or at home eating dinner.

There was a rune glowing on the green door, visible in the full moonlight. I traced the symbol with my fingers and then knocked on the door with my fist. I stepped back on the doorstep and waited.

A moment later, the door opened to reveal a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins dressed in his pajamas and a bathrobe. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

"Good evening," said Bilbo. (At least, he had not forgotten his manners). "Can I help you?"

"Hi," I said.

Bilbo eyed my clothing suspiciously. Whatever time I had Skipped to, it was before Bilbo encountered the trolls. He did not know me here.

"I'm Ana," I said. "I'm just passing through Hobbiton, but night seems to have set in before I reached, um, Bree. Someone down at the tavern told me that if I wanted a place to spend the night I should look here…It does seem a terribly nice place, but I would hate to intrude…"

Bilbo opened his mouth and then closed it again. He considered this for a second and then puffed out his chest, looking terribly self-important. "I am Bilbo Baggins. Well, if you have heard that—this is a very comfortable home. They did good in sending you here."

I smiled. "Thank you."

He stepped back to allow me in and I entered his little hobbit hole. It was, indeed, a nice place. Well kept and tidy. Every inch of the hole spoke "Home". Anyone would be loath to leave such a place.

"Beautiful, beautiful," I said. "Anyone would be lucky to stay in a place like this."

"Thank you, Ma'am," said Bilbo. "I was just making supper if you would like some."

"May I? That's awfully kind of you."

Bilbo was practically bustling with pride and he led me to his kitchen. He was the most polite host, even pulling the chair out for me. He handed me a plate of fish and potatoes. He took the seat opposite me and the two of us began eating. We managed to get a whole two bites in when the doorbell rang.

Bilbo paused mid-bite and stared at me. "Do you have friends coming?"

I shook my head. "Maybe they heard your home was a great place to stay too."

"This is not an inn," said Bilbo.

He got to his feet and headed for the door. I could hear voices in the other room, but could not make out what they were saying. A minute later a bald dwarf with a messy brown beard stepped into the kitchen with a frantic Bilbo right behind him.

"Excuse me!" cried Bilbo. "But _who_ said there would be food?"

"Dwalin?" I said, staring at the dwarf.

The dwarf glared at me. "Who are you?"

"Um…I'm, um, I'm Ana. The food is great here! You should try some!" I held out some potatoes on a fork for him.

Dwalin eyed me suspiciously and then used his fingers to pull the potatoes off the fork. He tossed the potatoes in his mouth and chewed. He nodded. Then he sat down in Bilbo's chair, helping himself to poor Bilbo's supper.

"Is anyone else here yet?" asked Dwalin.

"Who? Others?" asked Bilbo. He turned to me. "Do you know these people?"

I shook my head. "I'm just passing through."

Dwalin finished the plate and looked around the kitchen for more food. "Is this it? He said there would be more."

"More?"

"The pantry?" I suggested.

Dwalin saw the open pantry door behind me. He rose from his seat and marched across the room. Just as he entered the pantry, the doorbell rang again. Bilbo gawked at the door and then stormed back to the entrance way to see who it was.

I watched Bilbo disappear and then got to my feet. Dwalin was still investigating the pantry.

"You're that dwarf warrior, huh?"

Dwalin spun around. There was a chunk of cheese in his mouth. "Mm?"

"Yeah. I recognized you by your beard. That's an impressive patch of fur, that is."

Dwalin swallowed the cheese. He stared at me for a second and then said, "It is.'

"I've seen many dwarves in my time, and I have to say, yours is one of the most impressive. One time—I saw a dwarf who didn't even have a beard. He might not have been a dwarf though; he might have just been a regular midget."

Dwalin snorted. "A dwarf without a beard is a hairless rat."

"Exactly!" I cried. "It's the beard that makes the dwarf! Someone should tell the little midget that."

"_Who invited you_!?"

"Ah, Bilbo's back."

I stepped out of the pantry and saw that another dwarf had entered the kitchen. This dwarf, unfortunately, was all too familiar. The white haired Balin took one look at me and cried, "What is _she_ doing here?"

"You _know_ these people?" asked Bilbo.

"Only Balin," I said. "Though I did not expect to meet him here. Last time we met he let Thorin try to kill me."

"If only he had succeeded," said Balin.

"Grouchy old man," I muttered. I turned to Dwalin and said, "Your beard is much more impressive than his."

Dwalin grunted his approval.

"Why are there so many dwarves in my kitchen?" asked Bilbo. "I prefer to know guests before they come to dinner. I do not know who invited you, but it was not me. I think you may have the wrong establishment and I am forced to ask you to leave. I invited Ana in as my personal guest, but Dwalin and Balin, I am afraid you must go."

The doorbell rang again.

"You might want to get that," said Balin.

Bilbo sucked in his breath and let it all out in one angry puff. "Dwarves!" He stormed back across his kitchen and back to the front door.

"She should not be here," said Balin, pointing at me. "Thorin did not invite her."

"Thorin is coming?" I asked eagerly.

"He will be late," said Dwalin.

"But he's coming." I grinned. "Man, I haven't seen that majestic dwarf in ages. How's he doing? Has he managed to remove that stick from his behind yet?"

"He had a stick in his behind?" asked Dwalin. "He must have gotten it out before I last saw him. Poor Thorin. That must have hurt."

I grinned, but before I could respond, Bilbo returned with two more dwarves—Fili and Kili.

"Hey!" I said, waving. Then I muttered under my breath to Dwalin, "It's the hairless rat."

Dwalin looked at Kili and let out a roar of laughter.

"That is not the welcome I wanted to receive," said Kili. "Are you teasing me already, Mister Dwalin."

"It is not like that was record time," said Fili. He stepped past his brother and made straight for the pantry. "Is there anything to eat?"

Balin put his hand out to stop Fili from entering the pantry. "Get the plates. We will handle the food."

"The food!?" cried Bilbo. "Why are you handling my food?"

"He wants some big juicy mangos," I said, opening the cupboard so Fili could get down the plates.

"Why the mangos?" asked Bilbo.

"I wonder…"

Kili grabbed the mugs and after we had set the table for sixteen, the three of us went to find the ale. The doorbell rang again and a frustrated Bilbo opened it up to the breaded faces of Oin, Gloin, Dori, Nori, and Ori.

"Are we late?" asked Dori.

"Late for what?" asked Bilbo.

"Hello! Give us a hand!" hollered Balin as he carried three huge blocks of cheese towards the table. "Dwalin is roasting lamb!"

"Oh! Lamb!"

Nori made straight for the kitchen that Balin had just come out of. Dori saw Kili and Fili carrying a tankard of ale and decided that was where his time was best spent. Soon food and dishes were being carried to the dinning room of Bilbo's hobbit hole. The hobbit himself stood in the middle of the foyer, his mouth somewhere around floor level.

Then—much to Bilbo's horror—the doorbell rang again. I peered behind him and watched as he opened the door with such force that the five dwarves came spilling through the doorstep. Bifur and Bofur with the far Bombur on top. Gandalf leaned over and smiled at Bilbo through the doorway.

Bilbo sighed. "I might have known."

Soon we were all seated around the dinning table enjoying a marvelous feast. I sat near the head of the table, squished between Bofur and Oin. A space was left empty at the head of the table (undoubtedly reserved for the majestic Thorin).

"We appear to be one dwarf short," said Gandalf. "Where is Thorin?"

"He has gone north to talk to some of our kin," said Dwalin. "He will be here."

I grinned. "He probably got lost on the way—though he'll never admit it."

Gandalf ignored my comment. He sat opposite Bofur and an extremely uncomfortable Bilbo sat next to him. At least, Biblo had the ever polite Ori on the other side of him. Oin could hardly be considered the most polite dwarf. He shouted dwarven curses and threw food in the faces of people he didn't like.

"Your mother was as hairless as a newborn baby!" roared Oin and he threw a fistful of potatoes at Gloin.

"You are more dense than an ox!" roared Gloin. "My mother is also your mother!"

"My mother was a hairy monkey!' shouted Oin.

"She never shut up!" said Bifur. "She was a squealing pig!"

"Can we eat her then?" asked Bombur.

The table roared with laughter and everyone threw fistfuls of bread at Bombur. He caught all the bits of bread in his mouth. The other dwarves stomped their feet and roared their approval. Bombur stood up to bow and ended up tripping over his own chair.

"More ale!" shouted the dwarves.

Fili hopped up on the table and marched across the get refills.

"Get me some too!" I shouted, handing up my empty mug. "You dwarves drink like Gondor women!"

"Gondor women?" asked Gandalf. "And how do you know their drinking habits?"

"They don't drink at all," I said. "I once had a drinking contest with three elves, a dwarf, two hobbits, and a man." I grinned. "Guess who won?"

There was a unison cry of "The dwarf!"

"Wrong!" I clapped my hands together and leaned forward. "The friggin' elves always win 'cause they cheat."

The dwarves stomped their feet and booed.

"You know what," I said, getting to my feet. "The word elf practically means cheat. I might as well just say—man, you saw me winning in that card game? Yeah? Well, I was elfing the whole time. But shush—don't tell nobody."

"You are an elf!" roared Oin, pushing me back into my seat.

"Shut up!" said Gloin. "Just because you elf whenever we play dice games."

"I don't elf!"

Kili threw a chunk of cheese at Oin. "Elfer! Elfer! You elfer!"

"Shut up, you hairless rat!" shouted Dwalin, slamming down his mug of ale.

A howl of laughter rose amongst the dwarves and they fell over themselves with mirth.

"He is a beardless dwarf!" they cried.

"I will grow a beard soon!" shouted Kili. "It will be bigger and fuller than all your beards combined!"

"Please," I said. "All their beards combined and you will still be nowhere near as majestic as the beard of your uncle Thorin."

"He just wants to be his uncle!" cried Ori. "But he really is not!"

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious!" said Fili.

"I need more ale!" shouted Nori.

"Me too!" cried Bofur.

I held out my empty mug. "Count me in!"

Fili handed out more ale and the drinking continued until all the food was gone. The merriment however continued into a full out food fight (Dwalin won) and eventually a belching contest (Bombur won that). The yelling and shouting and laughing raged on full force. It seemed that nothing could stop it. Nothing but three strong knocks on the door.

Silence fell about the table like a blanket. We all turned to stare at the door.

"So he has come," said Gandalf.

"I'll get it!" I cried. And before anyone could stop me, I leapt up from my seat and sprinted across the hall. I threw open the door and found myself face to face with his majesticness, Thorin Oakenshield.

Needless to say, he wasn't too happy to see me.


	8. Majesty Always Ruins The Party

**Chapter VIII: Majesty Always Ruins The Party**

"Please tell me you are not the burglar Gandalf brought me to meet."

I grinned at Thorin.

He groaned. "I am leaving right now and we will never mention this again."

"Just kidding!" I said. "I'm most definitely not the burglar. I'm too big of a klutz for that."

Thorin nodded. "Yes, you are."

"Thorin Oakenshield," said Gandalf, coming to stand behind me. "You are late."

"I thought you said this would be easy to find," said Thorin. "I would not have ever gotten here if it weren't for the make on the door."

"See," I said. "He's directionally challenged."

"Mark?" asked Bilbo. "There is no mark on the door. I had it repainted just last week."

Thorin stared at Bilbo for a good long minute. Then, he turned to Gandalf and said, "Is this the burglar?"

"Yes," said Gandalf. "I have selected Mister Baggins as the fourteenth member of the Company."

"I almost would have preferred Anan," said Thorin.

"Really?" I asked eagerly.

"On second thought, never mind. I will rather the hobbit." Thorin turned to Bilbo, his sharp eyes assessing. "Have you ever used a weapon before, Master Baggins?"

"A weapon?" repeated Bilbo. "Mercy me! Never!"

Thorin smirked. "I thought so. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar."

The other dwarves laughed and nodded their approval.

Thorin paused and then added, "I would still rather Mister Baggins than Ana."

"Come on," I said. "Is that really necessary? That's just like seeing how many times you can insult me in under a minute!"

"That is not hard!" cried Kili, leaping forward. "You are short and stupid and ugly. Your father had rocks for brains and your mother was a hairless rat."

"You're a hairless rat," I said. "Try a little harder next time, you wannabe dwarf."

"You drink like a girl," said Oin. "Your father looks like a pig and your mother smells like one."

"You're one to talk," I said. I waved my hands in front of my nose and pulled a face. "Yuck."

"I got this," said Bifur. "You are short and clumsy and you belch like a mouse."

"I don't want to belch like a dwarf anyways, so the point is moot," I said. "Better luck next time."

"You are shorter than a dwarf, but you do not have a beard, so you must be just a regular midget," said Dwalin.

"You have identity issues like the offspring of a hog and a donkey, your mother was the hog and your father was the ass," said Balin.

"When you were a child your mother wanted to find someone to take care of you, but the assassin asked for too much," said Bifur.

"Meh," I said. "Insult me all you want, but I just have to look at any one of you in comparison to Thorin—then I start to wonder if you're just dwarf women in disguise."

"Why is it that all your insults to us compliment Thorin?" asked Fili.

I shrugged. "Just look at that majestic beast—how can you insult him?"

Thorin rolled his eyes. He pushed past me and took his seat at the head of the dinning room table. He looked at Gandalf and said, somberly, ""Why is she _here_?"

"I did not invite her," said Gandalf.

"She is my guest," said Bilbo, puffing himself up. "I invited her into this house before any of you arrived. You have no right to throw her out!"

"If this is about the quest to Erebor to defeat Smaug, I know all about it." I said.

Gandalf turned to Thorin. "How much did you tell her?"

"Nothing," said Thorin. "She was there when Smaug attacked…"

"Exactly," I said. "Let's not worry about details." I sat down in my seat at the table and grinned at Thorin. "We have a quest for gold to discuss."

"Gold?" Gloin and Oin immediately took their seats, all their attention focuses on Thorin. One by one the other dwarves join the table. Kili shot Thorin a hopeful grin (perhaps wanting some sort of acknowledgment) but Thorin was occupied talking to Balin and did not notice. A disappointed Kili slunk back to his seat.

"More ale!" cried Bombur, holding out his mug. Fili moved to take it, but Thorin shook his head.

"No," he said. "The party has come to an end. We have serious matters to discuss."

"Oh sure, Thorin," I muttered. "Ruin all the fun."

Thorin ignored me. "We have gathered here today to discuss an adventure. Gandalf here came to me and proposed that I gather together a group of my kin and head for the LonelyMountain. The time has come, he said, for us to take back our home. I sent out messages across the lands—to our people in the north, the south, the east, and the west, but only we thirteen have gathered here. No matter. While we might be small in numbers, we are strong in heart. The time has come for us to take back Erebor from the might Smaug."

"Smaug?" asked Bilbo.

"Shush," I said. "You're interrupting Thorin's majestic speech."

Thorin snorted. "Not as much as you are." He turned to Bilbo, dislike blatant in his expression. "Smaug is the dragon that took our home from us. Long have we been denied return to our lands since dragons will bury themselves in their hoards of treasure and guard it until their dying days—which could very well be forever."

"Dragon?" squeaked Bilbo.

"He's very scary," I said. "He's almost killed me…twice."

"Twice!" cried Bilbo.

"He failed both times though," I said.

"Obviously," said Thorin. "Otherwise you would not be here right now." he paused and added, "Though that might not be a bad thing."

"Why do I put up with this?" I asked.

"I do not know," said Bofur. "But you are the one who compliments him all the time."

"But…Just look at him—how can you not compliment that hunk of a dwarf?"

Gandalf slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead and sighed. "We are a little off topic here."

"Yes," said Thorin. "The Lonely Mountain. We are here to discuss our return home. As we have established, the dragon Smaug is a terrifying and dangerous creature, but that is only at the end of our journey. First, we must cross the perilous road over the MistyMountains and through Mirkwood. There will be much danger and I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone here." Thorin looked pointedly at Bilbo. "Gandalf has recommended us a burglar so that our party will not be unlucky thirteen."

"An expert burglar!" cried Ori.

"Yes, yes," said Bilbo, nodding. "An expert burglar will be best."

We all stared at Bilbo.

"Are you?" asked Dori.

Bilbo frowned. "Am I what?"

"An expert?"

Bilbo looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure there was no some shadowy man standing behind him. Then, Bilbo turned back to the dwarves and said, "Me? A burglar? You have got to be joking."

"That is what I said!" cried Nori.

"He does not look like much of a burglar," said Ori.

"He would not survive a day in the wild," added Dwalin. "The wild is meant for rougher folk."

Bilbo nodded in agreement. "Definitely not for me."

"If I say Mister Baggins is a burglar then a burglar he is," declared Gandalf.

Thorin sighed. He was not happy with the arrangement, but Gandalf's cooperation was important. He turned to Balin and said, "Hand Mister Baggins the contract."

Balin hesitated for half a second and then started rummaging through his rucksack. He pulled out a folded piece of parchment and handed it to Bilbo. With trembling hands, Bilbo unfolded the paper and read the contract. "…Payment not to exceed one-fourteenth of the total profit…if there is any…the journey should take a few months...Alright…The Company will not be responsible for any funeral expenses…Death…Laceration… _Incineration_?"

"Oh, that sounds like fun," I said.

"You are not coming," said Thorin.

"I don't think either one of us will have a choice in that matter," I said.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"So, how are we getting into the LonelyMountain?" I asked. "Surely we aren't charging in through the front door."

"We must reach the LonelyMountain in one piece first," said Thorin.

"Yes, yes, cheerful thought," I said. "But that's not an answer to my question."

"There is only one way in," said Balin. "The LonelyMountain was a fortress as well as a dwarven city."

"A fortress that now belongs to Smaug," I said. "Why are we going to Erebor so unprepared?"

"Why are my bowels being removed?" asked Bilbo, still reading the contract.

"Goblins have odd hobbies," said Bofur.

"A Seer once told Thorin that he would take back Erebor," said Balin, practically glowing with pride. "She told him now is the time."

"A Seer?" I asked. "You're relying on a Seer to know when to attack a dragon?"

Thorin took a bite of soup of hide what I thought might have been a smile (but this is Thorin we're talking about so I might have imagined it.)

"There is another way in," said Gandalf. From his gray robes, he pulled out a small time-worn map. He spread the map across the table. I leaned over and saw that it was a map to the LonelyMountain. There was a red design painted on one side of the mountain. I squinted, but I could not make out what the sign meant.

"Where did you get this?" asked Thorin.

"Your father gave it to me to give to you," said Gandalf. "When I found him half-mad in the dungeons of Dol Guldur. The only words I could get from him were about the LonelyMountain and the secret entrance."

"A secret entrance," repeated Thorin.

"There is another way in!" cried Kili.

I rolled my eyes. "Thank you, Captain Obvious for that stunning revelation!"

"I am a captain now?" asked Kili. "When did this come about?"

"Never mind!"

"Why is mental deterioration on the list?" asked Bilbo.

"Adventures sometimes contain less than pleasant sights," said Balin. "It only applies if you are of a weak heart and mind to begin with."

"I rather like my mind the way it is…" said Bilbo.

"You just need to sign at the bottom of the page," said Balin.

"Right," said Bilbo. "Right." And then he promptly passed out.

"I think you might end up a burglar short," I said.

"I'd still rather have an unconscious hobbit come along that you," said Thorin.

While Oin and Gloin carried poor Bilbo to his rocking chair, the rest of us cleaned the dishes and tidied up Bilbo's home. Thorin did not touch so much as a dishtowel (he was far too important for such business). When the cleaning was over, the dwarves retreated to Bilbo's sitting room for stories and chitchat. Bilbo woke up right about then and Gandalf had a word or two with the hobbit. I remained in the sitting room with the dwarves.

"He seems a little weak in the stomach," said Dori.

"I think he's cute," I said.

"No one cares about your opinions," said Thorin.

"I beg to differ," I said. "I happen to have very good taste in dwarf beards."

Dwalin grunted in approval.

"You do not even have a beard," said Gloin. "You belong in the same category as Kili."

Kili looked positively outraged. "Do not find similarities between me and that dwarf want to be!"

"Kili is a son of the line of Durin," said Thorin. "Not some homeless girl who cannot keep her feet on the ground and does not have a bit of common sense in her head."

"I object to being called homeless by a dwarf who has to go battle a dragon to get his own home back!"

"Smaug…" said Dori with a shudder.

"I am not afraid of him!" cried Ori. "I will shove a sword right up his jaxy!"

"Calm down, Ori," said Nori.

"That remind me," said Dwalin, turning to Thorin. "I heard you had a stick up your rear end. Did you manage to get it out?"

"A stick?" Thorin stood next to the fire, a puzzled expression on his face. Then, he turned to me. "What have you been telling my company?"

"Me?" I said. "Why do you always accuse me first?"

Dwalin frowned. "So did you manage to remove the stick?"

"I think it's still up there," I said.

"Would you like some help removing it?" asked Bofur.

Thorin turned to me and fingered the handle of his sword. "Would you like me to cut off your head?"

"Not again!" I squeaked. I sprinted to cower behind Fili, who was drinking some more ale and enjoying my torment immensely. I prodded him in the back and muttered, "You could help me."

"But that would spoil all my fun."

I stole Fili's ale and finished it off as vengeance. Fili glared at me reproachfully as I pranced away to go bother Oin and Gloin instead. The chatter went on for some time. Then a drunken Gloin started to sing some song about hairy dwarf women—thus, the musical section of the night began. After Gloin's wonderful solo, he had Oin started a duet dedicated to disemboweling elves and other crude ways to torment them. (That seemed to be Thorin's favorite song—he scowled a little less while that one was sung). There was another song about dwarf women and ale—courtesy of Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. Ori tried to sing about his grandmother's cardigans, but Nori cut across his brother and started chanting about a troll and a goblin meeting at a crossroad and, after hours of arguing who should go first, the troll decided just to eat the goblin and continued on his way. Fili and Bofur had another song about dwarf women. Then Kili let out an ear-breaking solo about how one day he would grow a fine beard. Thorin whacked Kili over the head and told him to "Shut up before you embarrass even Durin himself!"

"Why don't you sing a song then," I said. "Since you have the right to condemn others voices."

Thorin glared at me for a good long minute. "Fine."

"Wait—you actually are going to sing?"

"Singing has long been a part of the dwarf tradition—no one could call himself a dwarf if he cannot sing." Thorin looked pointedly at Kili.

"I think we have questioned Kili's lack of dwarfishness enough for one day," said Bofur.

"He might need therapy after this," I said cheerfully.

"Need what?"

I slumped back in the chair. "What's the point of making humorous remarks if no one understands them?"

"Your remarks are supposed to be humorous?" asked Nori.

Bofur let out a weak laugh. "I thought it was very amusing."

I grinned at him. "Thank you, Bofur, at least someone understands my sense of humor."

"He does not understand a word you say," said Fili. "He is only laughing to be nice."

"Well, that's more than you can say!"

Thorin cleared his throat loudly. "I am about to be singing here."

"Of course!" I cried, leaning forward and watching him eagerly. "I want to hear your majestic dwarf voice."

Thorin ignored me. He settled into his spot beside the fireplace. At first, he hummed the tune in a deep, melodic voice. The other dwarves caught on and carried on the melody. Then, Thorin opened his mouth to sing:

"Far over the misty mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away ere break of day  
To seek the pale enchanted gold.

The pines were roaring on the height,  
The winds were moaning in the night,  
The fire was red, it flaming spread;  
The trees like torches blazed with light.  
The bells were ringing in the dale  
And men looked up with faces pale;  
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire  
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

Far over the misty mountains grim  
To dungeons deep and caverns dim  
We must away, ere break of day,  
To win our harps and gold from him!"

Thorin finished the song and a long silence filled the sitting room. The dwarves were dwelling on their own sorrows and the vast journey that lay ahead of them. A kind of dark look had crossed Thorin's face as he stared into the depths of the fireplace. The silence seemed to stretch on forever.

"Thorin…" I said slowly.

"Hm?"

"Can you sing me to sleep every night from here on out?"

"No."

"Come on!" Do you not hear your own deep, manly voice! Who would not want to fall asleep listening to that!? It's friggin' ridiculous!"

"My answer is still no."

"Mean!"

Thorin ignored me. "We need to rise early tomorrow. I suggest we retired. At the break of dawn, we head for the Lonely Mountain." He left the sitting room and headed for the guest bedroom he had reserved for himself. Unfortunately for him, I decided to follow.

"Come on, Thorin, just one little song—just until I fall asleep. You can sing your Misty Mountain song again. I could listen to that on a ten hours repeat YouTube video—I would not mind a bit!"

Thorin sat down on his bed. "No. And what is YouTube?"

"A mythical place where you can watch anything you want to—why not?"

"No."

"You should quit this whole regain your throne and become King Under the Mountain thing and become a singing!" I cried. "I'll totally be your manager—thanks for asking!"

"No."  
"Thorin!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"God damn it! You're no fun!"

Thorin sighed and stood up. He drew his sword and pointed the tip directly at his throat. "I want to sleep and you are not planning on leaving me alone at all this night."

"What are you doing with that thing?" I asked suspiciously.

"You Skip whenever your life is under threat," said Thorin. "I am helping." He raised the sword above his head.

"Hey! Wait! That's not fair!"

He brought the sword crashing down.

Skip.

I stood in my pink bedroom, cringing away from a sword that no longer existed.

That damn Thorin—he'd figured out how to get rid of me!


	9. Warning Do Not Hire

**IX: Warning Do Not Hire**

I swear the world does not want me to sleep. By the time I Skipped back home from the dwarf party at Bilbo's house, it was nearly midday. I had just collapsed on my bed and closed my eyes when my mom flung open the bedroom door and cried, "Ana! How long are you planning to sleep today?"

ARRRRRRRRG!

I sat up and ruffled my already messy hair. "What?"

"Breakfast has gotten cold—come on! Rise and shining, sleepy head! There are things to do today!"

I groaned and rolled out of bed. All this Skipping was messing with my hibernation schedule. Eyes still half closed, I stumbled to my dresser, pulled out jeans and a sweater, and headed straight for the shower. I Skipped to a town in Rohan once—right in the middle of my shower. As you can imagine, that lead to some awkward situations. I ran into some guy called Eomer and we had quite the showdown. It ended with me being thrown in prison for six days before I Skipped back home. Ever since then I've had a fear of taking showers. Of course, unless I wanted to be alone a friendless forever not taking showers wasn't an option. So I compromised. Now I wear a bathing suit in the bathroom.

After I finished my shower, I headed downstairs and saw cold pancakes waiting for me on the table. I ate one plain and then put the rest in the microwave.

"You need to find a job," said Mom.

"I know."

"You're not going back to college next semester."

"Do you think microwaved pancakes will taste as good? I think they're more squishy."

"We can sell your apartment…"

"I'll get a job. I still want to go back."

Mom nodded. "Do you want coffee to go with that squishy pancake?"

"Yeah…"

Later that day, I had a job interview with a restaurant. I drove my car down to the shopping center and parked. I sat in the car for a moment, just letting the engine run. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want that job. I'd rather be at home—sleeping. Or even back in Middle Earth searching for Bonnie and Nick. Who knows where they ended up? I certainly didn't, but I had to find them. But, of course, I have two lives: one in Middle Earth where I'm the crazy girl who shows up randomly and disappears just as randomly, and one in Ohio, where I'm the crazy girl who can't hold a job. Neither life was desirable.

I turned off the car engine. Time to go get myself a job.

* * *

"So, you were fired from your last job?"

"Yes."

The manager sat in front of me. Her wrinkled face was pinched up and her lips were pursed. She watched me disapprovingly, already deciding not to hire me.

"Might I ask why?"

"There was an emergency and I did not turn up for my sift."

"What kind of emergency?"

"Two of my friends were missing."

"And did you explain that to your manager?"

I nodded. "She said I missed work too often for her to keep me on as an employee."

"So skipping work is a common occurrence for you?" Her lips became even more pursed, the lower lip sticking out beneath the other.

"I, um, struggle with time."

"So you have not received a proper education. Why should we hire you when you cannot come to work on a regular basis?"

"Because I am turning over a new leaf…"

The manager stared at me suspiciously. "Right. What was your name again?"

"Ana Stonbit."

"Well, Ana, we'll get back to you concerning the job."

I smiled awkwardly. "Thanks for considering me." (Not that actually considered me for more than a second). "I look forward to hearing from you."

"Of course." She smiled.

I started to get out of my chair—and something slid out of my jeans pocket. Wide-eyed, I turned to see what it was. The Sword Breaker sat on the ground, still in its sheath, and in plain view of the manager. Well, damn, I might as well just have a sign that says "Warning: Do Not Hire" hanging around my neck. I glanced at the manager nervously, hoping she didn't see the knife lying on the ground.

"Er—what is that?" she asked. (She definitely saw the knife.)

"That would, um, be, um, the, um, Sword Breaker…" I scooped the sword up and stuffed it back into my jeans pocket. "You never know what can happen to you out on those streets. You can never be too careful."

The manager stared at me. An expression of pure horror crossed her face, though I have to say she managed to hide it pretty well. She smiled at me and said, "At least, you're prepared." She paused and then, in an undertone, added, "Are you part of a gang?"

I blinked. "What? No…"

"Well, you skip work all the time and you carry a knife around with you—it's awfully suspicious. Are you skipping work to go to your gang fights?"

"No! Wha—wha—what?"

"Some people say gangs are going out of style these days," continued the manager. "But personally, I think being in a gang would be exhilarating. I used to date a gang leader back when I was in high school. I was never really a part of the gang, but I hung around with them a lot."

I'm pretty sure my eyes were bugging out of their sockets. "Um…Okay…Well, I'm just going to leave…Call me about the job…"

"Ah-ha!" said the manager, grinning. "You're running away because I've discovered your secret."

"I'm leaving!"

I bolted to the door and ended up…on top of a mountain…?

An icy wind blasted against my face and I folded my arms over my chest, trying to stay warm. I was standing knee-deep in snow on a mountain ledge. The sides of the mountain dropped off into a rocky abyss, so deep that the bottom was hidden by cloud. The gray sky overhead was turmoil. Snow fell and winds whipped about, the clouds rolled over one another like bulldozers. It was freezing.

"Why here!?" I screamed. "Why did you have to Skip me here!?"

My voice died on the wind.

I was not dressed for this weather. A simple leather jacket, jeans, and boots were not enough to keep me warm. I breathed out and mist emerged from my lips. What was I doing here? I couldn't move through this thick snow. Not without exhausting myself within minutes. Why was here? Was I just going to wade through the snow until I almost die of the cold and then Skip back to a hospital? That's no fun!

"Hello?" I screamed. "Is there anybody out there?"

The wind howled, but other than that the mountain did not respond.

"I hate you!"

Nothing.

"I hope you burn in the fiery pits of hell!"

Nothing.

"I know you're a mountain so that threat doesn't mean anything!"

Nothing.

"But I hope you erode into dust!"

Nothing.

"Screw you too, mountain!"

"Ana?"

I spun around. Through the heavy snowfall and screaming winds, I could see nine figures forcing their way through the snow. At first, I could not recognize them, but as they grew closer I saw that the figures at the front were Boromir and Aragorn. Behind them were the four hobbits with Gandalf and Gimli taking up the rear. Legolas (that stupid elf) was walking on top of the snow, completely unbothered by the cruel weather.

"God damned elves!" I cried.

Legolas smiled. "Are you lost?"

"What are you doing up here?" asked Boromir.

"I Skipped here!" I tried to wade through the snow and almost ended up face planting into it. "It's cold!"

"Yeah," said Boromir, reaching my spot on the cliff edge.. "We are climbing a mountain in the winter. It tends to be cold."

"Who decided that?" I cried.

"Hello, Ana," said Merry as the hobbits came to stand beside me. "Are you out for a little evening stroll? Or is it morning now? I can not tell in this weather."

"It's afternoon in my world," I said. "Though I don't think we run on the same times…"

"We must continue on," said Gandalf. "Until we find shelter."

"There will not be much shelter up here," called out Aragorn.

Aragorn plowed on through the snow with Legolas and the hobbits close behind him. Gimli greeted me gruffly as he passed and Gandalf gave me a dirty look. I stood there, shivering in the snow, with Boromir standing beside me.

"Are you stuck?" he asked.

I nodded.

"The hobbits can make it through the snow."

"Whoop-dee-doo," I said. "They're better dressed for this than I am."

"Why did you not dress warmer before coming for a stroll on the mountain tops?"

"Well, I didn't expect to be on a freezing cold mountain top when I woke up this morning now, did I?"

Boromir laughed. "We are heading towards the other side of the mountain if we can."

"Take me with you?"

"You cannot even walk."

"You can piggyback me."

"What?"

Before Boromir could protest, I jumped onto his back and fastened my arms around his neck. "Alright, noble steed!" I cried. "Onwards!"

"It is difficult enough to walk without your added weight," said Boromir, though he did start walking.

"Are you calling me fat?" I asked.

"A little on the hefty side," said Boromir.

We caught up with the rest of the Fellowship pretty quickly. I was impressed by the speed Boromir was able to wade through the snow. From what I could tell, the Fellowship had a pretty good system going. Legolas would scout out the path ahead; then Boromir and Aragorn would force a path through the snow. The hobbits and Gimli would follow close behind so that the snow would not be so deep. Gandalf brought up the rear, making sure that no one got left behind. I might have hindered their progress a little since Boromir was carrying me on his back, but he never said a word of serious complaint (only jokes about my weight).

"I don't like him," I said, watching as Legolas walked about lightly on top of the snow. "Can we push him off the mountain ledge? No one would know."

Boromir chuckled. "He has his uses. He is very handy with a bow."

"Meh. Aragorn can use a bow too. We don't need the elf."

"Your dwarf prejudices are showing."

I grinned. "Man, I really am a dwarf, aren't I? I know this one dwarf—Thorin—God, he _hates_ elves. They all do. But I swear—whenever I first met him, he was like—she's an elf spy. She's an elf spy. There's no way she's an orc spy. But she might be an elf spy." I laughed. "He has serious problems with elves."

"Sounds like it," said Thorin.

"I think he needs some serious counseling. Therapy for a good long while. Maybe I could be his therapist…"

"I think that would only cause him to have more issues," said Boromir.

"Probably. Actually, I would get him to sing all his problems to me. Have you heard his singing voice? Well, no. But he has the most amazing singing voice. I could listen to that voice all the time, I kid you not. I'm obsessed with his voice."

"I cannot say I have ever been obsessed with a man's voice," said Boromir. "Actually, I cannot say I have ever been obsessed with any aspect of a man. Ever."

I grinned. "Well, we can change that."

"I would rather we did not."

"Are you corrupting poor Boromir, lassie?" said Gimli, trudging along behind us.

"He corrupted me first," I said. "Why do you think I started drinking?"

Gimli shook his head. "Boromir—you have created a monster beyond our reckoning."

"I did not know what I had created until it was far too late," said Boromir.

"You guys are mean," I said. "I'm not that bad."

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at Gimli. The two exchanged meaningful nods and then continued walking.

"No secret conversations!" I cried. "That's not fair!"

"I do not know what you are talking about," said Boromir with feigned innocence.

I prodded Boromir in the side and he let out a bark of laughter. "I will drop you!"

"Silence!"

Gandalf glared at our backs, his entire demeanor disapproving. "There are unfriendly eyes everywhere in these mountains. If they did not know we were here already then your constant talking will have certainly alerted them."

"Our mistake," said Boromir.

We continued walking along the cliff edge. The winds were howling. They hurled snow and ice into our faces. Our faces blistered with the cold. The hobbits looked ready to freeze to death at any moment. Aragorn and Boromir moved at a slower pace than before. Eventually, Boromir had to set me down and I walked behind him with the hobbits. Gimli seemed determined to go on, though only out of stubbornness. Every one and awhile he would have to stop walking and try to catch his breath. Even Legolas seemed to have been worn down by the mountain.

"We should not have come this way," said Aragorn.

Boromir nodded. "This will be the death of the Halflings."

"We cannot turn back," said Gandalf.

"Then let us light a fire," said Boromir. "Unfriendly eyes or not, we cannot die of the cold."

Gandalf hesitated, but then nodded. "Alright."

Boromir settled down on a somewhat sheltered edge of the mountain. The Fellowship had each brought a log up with them. However, despite Boromir and Gimli's best efforts, the fire would not start. Not in the cruel winds of Caradhras could the skill of elves, dwarves, and men combined light a fire. Eventually, Gandalf stepped forward and mumbled a few words. A fire leapt to life and the logs began to burn. The Fellowship gathered around the fire, trying to warm our icy fingers and toes.

"I do not know how much long I can stand this," grunted Gimli.

"We must fight on," said Aragorn.

"There are other ways," said Gimli. "We could go through the mines of Moria."

"No," said Gandalf. "I would not go that way unless I had no other choice."

"We could head south and take the Gap of Rohan," said Boromir. "The rumors of the men there paying a tribute of horses to Mordor are only rumors, I am sure of it."

"The Gap of Rohan takes us to close to Isengard and Saruman," said Gandalf.

"Isengard? Saruman?" I asked.

"Saruman the White is a wizard of my order," said Gandalf wearily. "He betrayed us and joined forces with Sauron. Isengard is his home."

"Oh," I said. "So Sauron and Saruman are bad. Why do their names sound so similar? Is there something about names beginning with S that makes people evil?"

"I beg your pardon," said Sam.

"Sorry," I said. "But maybe there's some great evil brewing inside of you too, Mr. S. What if you join forces with Saruman and Sauron and try to take over Middle Earth. Saruman, Sauron, and Sam do seem like a good group of villains."

Everyone ignored me. I think they've become accustomed to be going off on random tangents and have learned to just tune me out whenever I open my mouth.

"We cannot take the passage through the Mines of Moria," said Gandalf. "And I dare not take the Gap of Rohan. Going over Caradhras is the only path I see."

"The cold is more perilous than anything Saruman can conjure," said Aragorn. "We can fight Saruman. We cannot battle a mountain."

Legolas paused. He turned to stare off into the distance, his eyes focused on something that we could not see.

"There are fell voices in the air."

"Legolas," I said. "Don't say such creepy things."

"All elves are like that," said Gimli. "They think that since they are immortal, they can say eerie, cryptic things and pass it off for wisdom."

"And how many elves do you know, Master Dwarf, that you have become an expert?" asked Legolas.

Gimli's eyes narrowed. "I know you, Master _Elf_. And you are one too many elves for me to know."

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves and the arrogance of elves," said Gandalf. "There are more terrible things about than your own personal issues. Perhaps the fire was not such a good idea. We should put it out."

"No," said Aragorn. "We should not. The Halflings would not survive."

"Me too," I said. "I wouldn't survive the cold."

Gandalf frowned. "You are right, Aragorn. The damage is done. It is no use to put out the fire now."

I turned to Boromir. "They don't even care that I might freeze to death, do they?"

Boromir smiled, but didn't answer. I think he knew the truth as well as I did.

"I do not think hobbits were made for cold places," said Pippin through chattering teeth. "Why does this snow not go north to the Shire, they would welcome it there?"

Sam nodded and a dreamy smiled crossed his face. "I would build a snowhobbit."

Pippin grinned. "My snowhobbit would be huge—it would be a snow_man_. And then I would have a snowball fight—with half the Shire involved."

"You would lose," said Merry. "Miserably."

"If Mr. Bilbo was still in the Shire he would win beyond a doubt," said Sam. "I do not care if he is almost one-hundred-and-thirty. He would still manage to win the snowball fight."

The four hobbits laughed.

"He would enjoy that very much," said Frodo, nodding.

"I miss Bilbo," I said. "It feels like only yesterday I was partying at his house with a bunch of dwarves." I paused. "Oh wait. It was only yesterday."

"Yesterday?" asked Sam. "That was decades ago. When Mr. Bilbo was the same age that we are now."

I smiled. "Skipping is a curious thing, Master Samwise."

"I do not like it here," said Legolas. "These mountains are old. Too old. They do not like our presence here."

"You're paranoid," I said.

And, of course—right when I said that—the mountain decided to come down on top of us. I have great timing.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews are appreciated!**


	10. Is This The End?

******A/N: This chapter gets kind of serious...**

* * *

**X: Is This The End?**

Snow and rock came pouring down the mountainside onto the ledge. I screamed and threw myself against the mountainside, praying that the avalanche would not knock me down from the ledge and sent me to my death. The icy snow pounded against my face and body—hammering me in all directions until I did not feel the forceful movement of the avalanche. The heavy snow weighed down upon me. I couldn't move. I was trapped. I was going to die here, buried in the snow.

Someone grasped me by the back of my jacket and hauled me up out of the snow. I gasped for air.

"Ana!"

"I have Pippin."

"Merry? Where is Merry?"

"Are you alright?"

"Arg! Here is one dwarf who will not be defeated by a mountain!"

We had all been buried in the snow after the avalanche had passed. Thankfully, Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gandalf had managed to dig themselves out of the snow. They uncovered the rest of us. However, the hobbits and I were now shivering and wet. Gimli may survive the mountain, but I did not think the rest of us small people would.

"The voices—they ride on the wind bringing ill intentions."

I breathed out and turned to glare at Legolas through the wild snowfall. "Stop saying scary things!"

Legolas turned back to face the rest of the Fellowship. He brushed some snow from his blond hair and said, "It is Saruman."

A deep rumble—another avalanche came crashing down. The Fellowship gathered together. We pressed our backs against the mountainside and covered our heads as rocks and snow poured over us.

"We cannot stay here!" cried Aragorn.

"We must go through the Mines of Moria," said Gimli. "Balin would give us a royal welcome!"

"Not the Mines," said Gandalf. "I would not go through Moria unless we had no other choice."

"We should make for the Gap of Rohan," said Boromir.

"Wherever we go," said Sam. "Can we leave now? I do not fancy trying to survive another avalanche."

"Let us leave this accursed place!" said Boromir.

"I second that!" I said through chattering teeth.

"Very well," said Gandalf. "We make for the Gap of Rohan."

We headed down the mountainside. Once again, Aragorn and Boromir lead the way. Their strength was renewed with the prospect of leaving this wretched, frozen place. Gimli followed close behind them, still muttering about how he could go on. The hobbits and I bundled together, shivering in the icy weather. Sam leant me one of his blankets and I wrapped myself up in it, still shivering madly.

"Your lips are blue," said Pippin. He laughed as much as he could manage.

"So are yours," I said with a slight smile.

"I think," said Sam. "If it ever snows in the Shire, I will not dare venture out my doorstep. I have had enough of snow to last me a lifetime."

"I'm sure the snow in the Shire would be less…cold," I said. "And endless."

"The Shire is pleasant during the winter," said Frodo. "You should visit sometime, Ana."

I laughed. "If my Skipping allows it, I will go."

"Mister Bilbo used to tell me stories," said Sam. "Of a time when it snowed in the Shire and the Brandywine froze over. Wolves crossed and the hobbits had to fight them back."

"Ah!" I said. "So the hobbits can fight."

"Only when need requires it," said Frodo.

"The only fighting I've done is when I was six," I said. "And I slapped a girl because she said I was cheating."

"She lied?" asked Sam.

"No, no, I was cheating. I just didn't like the fact that she pointed it out." I laughed. "Oh and one time I punched a guy. But he hit me with a stick first. I was perfectly within my rights to hit him."

"Wild fights you have gotten yourself into," said Legolas, prancing over the snow top. "Very dangerous."

I stuck my hand out in an attempt to trip him, but Legolas jumped over my arm gracefully.

"Better luck next time," he said.

So Gimli tripped him instead. Legolas landed on the ground with a heavy crunch, disappearing beneath the deep snow. A moment later, his blond head popped up again and he glowered at Gimli.

"Elves," said Gimli with a wry grin.

"Dwarves," said Legolas.

The walk down the mountain took about a day—far shorter a time than it took to climb the mountain. The snow disappeared and we reached warmer climate. Winter's chill still bit at us as we wandered across the hilly grasslands at the base of the mountain range. However, the cold could not compare to the high altitudes of Caradhras and we were all in brighter spirits as we headed south.

I will not tell you all the details of our journey. Mostly it is just walking and more walking. When we paused for breaks, it began story time. Boromir would tell us of the White City and the great deeds of valor performed by men. Legolas would tell us of the going-ons of Mirkwood and some edited-for-age-appropriateness stories of elven parties. Gimli would tell us of the great halls of Erebor, reclaimed by Thorin and Company. I did not ask any questions about the details of Thorin's quest. Some parts I would rather be a surprise and other parts I would rather not know the ending.

We continued on south. On the third day of walking, my legs were all but dead. I staggered behind the others, my muscles aching beyond belief.

"I will not carry you on my back again," said Boromir.

"I'm not made of muscle like some people! I feel pain! Pain, I tell you!"

"We have a phrase to describe you," said Legolas thoughtfully. "What was it?"

"Short," said Boromir.

"Beard defiler," said Gimli.

"Neither here nor there," said Sam.

"Noisy," said Aragorn.

"No, no," said Legolas. "I remember. It was—overly dramatic."

"Great," I said. "Do you guys enjoy making fun of me?"

"Yes," said Merry. "It keeps us entertained on the long road south. I do not know how we wou—"

Merry never got to finish his sentence. A black arrow buried itself in his left temple. He stood there for a moment—mouth open—and stared at me. Then, his eyes rolled back into his head. He legs gave out beneath him and he fell to the ground. Dead.

"Orcs from Saruman!"

"In the forest! In the forest! Look to the trees!"

Legolas drew his bows and tried to shoot down some orcs. A volley of arrows soared through the air. Most of the missed us, but one arrow landed in Sam's left leg. He howled in pain and collapsed on the ground next to Merry.

Gandalf lifted his staff into the air and muttered some words in a foreign language. His spell sent the next volley of arrows flying away from us as if they had bounced off an invisible force field. But an orc fired one clean shot arrow that struck Gandalf in the shoulder.

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo.

"Stay down!" roared Aragorn.

"Wargs!" Boromir drew his sword. "They have wargs!"

I had not moved since the first arrow struck. I could only stare at Merry's fallen body where blood trickled from his temple. He was dead. He was really dead.

Orcs riding wargs came forth from the trees. The orcs let out wild war cries and waved their jagged weapons above their heads. The wargs gnashed their teeth and howled. Aragorn swung his sword and managed to lob off the head of the closest warg. The orcs swung his blade and it clipped Aragorn's shoulder. Legolas fired another arrow and it struck the orc in the forehead. Both orc and warg went crashing down. Aragorn clutched his bleeding shoulder, but lifted his sword and continued to fight.

"There are too many of them!"

Boromir slew an orc, but soon another replaced it. Their numbers seemed endless. Gimli swung his axe in all directions—orc head, orc arm, orc leg—but there were too many orcs to fight.

Frodo clutched his glowing blue sword, Sting. His face was pale and he did not look ready for battle. Pippin stood beside Frodo, trying to stop his hands from trembling, Sam knelt behind them, clutching his bleeding thigh.

I pulled my knife out of my jeans pocket and unsheathed it. The combed-blade did not seem anywhere near effective.

Legolas let out a high-pitched cry. An orc had run a blade through his chest. Legolas collapsed to the ground, the warg trampling over his legs. The warg turned and saw me, its dark eyes glittered with hunger.

I squeaked. My little Sword Beaker could not do much against a warg.

"Stay strong," said Frodo. "We are with you."

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah."

The warg sprinted towards us. It opened its jaws—and never reached us. Boromir brought his sword crashing down on the warg's head. The beast let out a low whine and crumpled to the ground, blood spilling from its skull.

"Thanks!" I cried, a little breathlessly.

"Watch out," said Boromir. "Those things will kill you."

And then, an orc drove his sword through Boromir's chest.

I'm pretty sure I screamed. I don't remember. I didn't really have time to do anything. The orc turned and saw me. I charged towards me, his blade ready to rip me to shreds. I lifted the Sword Breaker, trying to block the attack, but my arms gave out beneath the orc's blade. He was going to kill me. I was going to lie bleeding and dying on the ground. This was the end. All over.

Skip.

It was the middle of the night.

I stood outside the locked restaurant doors, clutching the Sword Breaker and trying to defend myself from an orc that no longer existed.

The air was chilly and my panting breath came out in tendrils of white mist. I bent over and clutched my knees. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Oh God. What has just happened?

They died. Boromir, Merry, Legolas—who else was dead? Did they all die? The Ring? What will happen to the Ring? Middle Earth? It is doomed too? I saw the White City Burning. When I was twelve-years-old, I was the destruction of Middle Earth. This was meant to happen. The Fellowship was meant to fail. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. I could only watch. I could only watch the inevitable happen.

I closed my eyes and tried to swallow back tears.

It was meant to happen. I could only watch them die. I could only watch them fail. I could never change it.

I opened my eyes.

Moria. Gandalf had said he would never enter Moria unless there was no other choice. They could not go over Caradhras and the Gap of Rohan led only to death. But Moria. Maybe they could make it through Moria.

I stood up and sheathed the Sword Breaker. The tears that had been on the verge of spilling had subsided. I knew a solution. I could save them. I could save them, right?

Filled with new hope, I started walking through the empty parking lot. There were only a few cars under the dim orange street lights. My own car had been moved. No doubt my parents had brought it home when they realized I was missing. I staggered through the parking lot, unaware of the blistering cold. All I could think of was returning. Returning to Middle Earth and changing the future. I could do it. I knew I could.

The shopping center parking lot led into the highway. Even at night, trucks and cars raced along the dark road. I stood on the curb, watching them go by. How many times had I been in this position? How many times had I stepped into danger in order to Skip? One of these days, it was going to kill me.

I laughed and then stepped off the curb. Lights flashed. Tires squealed. Music played. Elves sang. Music stopped. People spoke.

"Ana?"

I was standing in the middle of a grand dinning room. I blinked and looked around. The room was familiar. The same elegantly carved tables and carefully crafted benches as those in Rivendell. I blinked. I was standing in the middle of Rivendell's great hall. Elrond sat at the high table. He had risen from his seat and was staring at me in wide-eyed horror. Thorin sat on Elrond's left amongst the people of honor. He seemed a lot less surprised than Elrond and—honestly—his expression was more than of irritation than shock. On tables on either side of me, the dwarves of Thorin's company and Bilbo were seated. Some elves held instruments, providing music as entertainment. They stopped playing at my abrupt arrival. Gandalf was no where to be seen.

"Hi," I said, waving at Elrond and Thorin. "Long time no see."

"Who is this?" asked Elrond. "Who enters my house undetected? Is this some sort of witchcraft?"

Thorin sighed. "No. Her name is Ana. She does this often. She has no control over it."

"Elrond," I said. "Don't worry. We meet in the future and I bring you food." I looked around the hall. "Where is Gandalf?"

"He will be here shortly," said Elrond. "Why do you need him? And how do you know we will meet in the future? Do you have the gift of foresight?"

"Me?" I laughed. "No. I just kind of show up in the future and in the past from time to time."

"It is kind of annoying," said Thorin.

"Ana," said Bofur. "How are you? We have no seen you since the wargs attacked. Thorin was very concerned that you had been eaten."

"He was?" I cried, turning to Thorin with a wide grin. "How majestically kind of you!"

"I was not concerned at all," said Thorin. "Only disappointed that you Skipped instead of being eaten. It makes getting rid of you especially difficult."

"Do not be so mean," said Bofur. "She helped save us from the trolls!"

"I did?" I said, rather surprised. "I remember running away from the trolls and telling them to eat you instead of me."

"Well, yes," said Bofur. "That did happen. But you also tried to cut us free of our sacks and threw a hot drink—you called it coffee—in their faces. It was very heroic."

"And after that she screamed and ran away," said Oin.

I frowned. "I don't remember that…"

I did not realize it right then, but it occurred to me later on that the fact that I met the dwarves at Bag End and partied with them changed my actions in the future when we encountered the trolls. Since they already knew me, they did not have to ask who I was and I did not have to explain why I was there. I had changed the future without intending to. Not in any significant way, but slightly—which meant I could save the lives of the Fellowship! (Of course, there is a drawback to this changing future thing—I don't remember changing my actions with the trolls because I was not actually there to change them. There were going to be some major holes in my memory of things…)

"Well then, Ana," said Elrond grandly. "Join us for dinner and wait for Gandalf to arrive. A friend of myself in the future is welcome in Rivendell anytime."

"Thanks," I said. "Though I can't say I'm really _friends_ with the future you."

"Here," said Fili scooting over on the bench to make room for me between him and Ori.

I sat down and helped myself to the salad.

"You…enjoy that food?" asked Ori suspiciously.

"It's called lettuce," I said. "It doesn't really taste like anything."

Kili took a tentative bite. He screwed up his face and—after an agonizing struggle—managed to swallow the lettuce. "I prefer meat."

"We have lettuce in my world," I said. "But we usually put dressing on it to make it taste better. I don't suppose the elves have any Thousand Island?'

"Why would they have a thousand islands?" asked Ori. "And why would you want a thousand islands?"

"It's a type of…" I trailed off. I glanced up at Elrond's table. No sign of Gandalf. "Never mind."

"You say that a lot," said Fili. "I am not quite sure what you mean by—never mind. You never have a mind? So you do not think about anything—ever? That does not make any sense. I mean, unless you are talking to Kili."

"Well, yes," I said. "Kili never thinks, but that's not what the phrase 'never mind' means. It basically means that I want you to forget what I just said because I don't feel like explaining the joke to you."

"Oh," said Fili. "So you make a lot of jokes that we do not understand."

"Or her jokes just are not funny," said Gloin.

I opened my mouth to reply, but the door to Elrond's hall opened and the gray wizard stepped inside.

Immediately, I jumped to my feet and sprinted across the hall. He tried to dodge me, but I grabbed him by the shoulders and cried, "Do not take the Gap of Rohan!"

Gandalf stared.

The whole hall was silent.

"Why would I take the Gap of Rohan?" asked Gandalf.

"Do not take the Gap of Rohan! I cannot explain why but you will know when the time comes! Do _not_ take the Gap of Rohan!"

Gandalf stared.

I refused to release him until he agreed.

He nodded. "Alright…"

"Good." I let go of his shoulders and let out a sigh of relief. "Good."

Then, I returned to my seat between Fili and Ori and helped myself to the lettuce.

* * *

**A/N: Review?**


	11. Back To The Mountains

**XI: Back To The Mountains**

"So why are you in Rivendell?" I asked.

Thorin glared at me.

We were sitting in a cozy room next to a roaring fireplace. Thorin was sitting in an armchair smoking his pipe. The other dwarves were scattered throughout the room, entertaining themselves in the early hours of the night. Gloin, Oin, Nori, Bifur, and Dwalin were playing a gambling game with dice. Ori was knitting a sweater (sometime I question his dwarfishness). Kili and Fili were listening in awe as Balin told stories of the old days in Erebor. Bombur was having a late night snack while Bofur and Dori sat near the fire discussing what they would do with all the gold in Erebor. Gandalf and Bilbo were not in the room, preferring to engage the elves in conversation (unlike the stubborn dwarves). I sat on the floor next to Thorin's chair, letting the fire warm my back.

"So," I repeated. "Why are you in Rivendell? You hate elves."

"Gandalf deceived me," said Thorin gruffly. "We were fleeing the wargs and he led us to a secret passage into Rivendell."

"Ah," I said. "So he saved your lives and you're holding a grudge. That's so typical you."

Thorin scowled. "And following after me like a lost animal even though I constantly insult you is _so typical you_."

"But," I said. "You secretly like me. Bofur said you were worried I might have been eaten by the warg."

"Bofur has a creative imagination."

I grinned. "Bofur likes to imagine that you have emotions other than majesty."

Thorin snorted. "Majesty is an emotion?"

"Your only emotion."

"Ana," said Dori, pausing his conversation with Bofur. "Are you flattering Thorin needlessly again?"

"What?" I cried. "I'm not that bad!"

"Not that bad, she says," muttered Dori. "Every time Thorin opens his mouth, it is—majesty this and majesty that."

I laughed. "But look at him—how can you deny that majesty?"

"Oh, we are not denying it," said Bofur. "We just do not feel the need to point out his majesty constantly."

"He doesn't mind it," I said. "Even if he pretends I'm annoying, Thorin actually adores me."

"No I do not," said Thorin.

"You are his adorable little pet," said Bofur.

"That's so cute!" I cried. "Can I be his majestic doggy?"

"No," said Thorin.

"Can I be your unmajestic doggy?"

"No."

Our conversation was cut short as the door opened. Gandalf and Bilbo stood in the doorway. Gandalf caught sight of Thorin and said, "Come. We must speak with Lord Elrond."

Thorin frowned. For a moment, I thought he was going to insist that Elrond come to speak to him. But then, Thorin rose from his seat and headed for the door. "Come, Balin," he said. "You must listen to what Master Elrond has to say as well."

Balin stopped mid story and rose to follow Thorin.

"I want to go," I said. "I want to see Thorin make insulting comments about elves while Elrond tries to help him."

Thorin paused in the doorway. He turned around and smirked at me. "Then come as well, _doggy_."

"Hey!" I said, getting to my feet and following him out of the room. "How come when I say 'doggy' is sounds cute, but you say 'doggy' it sounds insulting?"

Thorin didn't respond. We followed Gandalf through the halls and walkways of Rivendell in almost complete silence. The sound was that of Thorin complaining about the untrustworthiness of elves and how they would try to stop his quest. Gandalf, for the most part, ignored Thorin—though he did make the occasion side comment about the stubbornness of dwarves.

Eventually, we entered another arching hall. This one had murals painted on the walls—images of a war between men and elves and orcs. The most beautiful mural shows the image of a man of Gondor in full battle armor holding up a shattered blade. Facing the painting was the statue of a maiden. Her head was bowed and she held up a flat stone on which the fragments of the shattered sword were placed.

Elrond stood in front of the stature, gazing at the pieces. When he heard us enter the hall, he turned around and smiled that ageless smile of his.

"Gandalf says you have need of my knowledge," said Elrond grandly. (God, I swear—everything this elf does is just _grand_. I bet he even sneezes grandly.)

Thorin shot am irritated glare at Gandalf. "Does he say that now?"

"Show him the map, Thorin," said Gandalf.

"Why should I?"

"He is not going to steal it," said Gandalf. "He only wants to read it."

"This map was made for dwarves," said Thorin. "What business does an elf have with dwarven artifacts?"

Gandalf pounded the bottom of his staff against the stone floor. "Put aside your stubbornness and give him the map! You are standing in front of one of the few people in Middle Earth who can read that map! Give it to him!"

Silence followed Gandalf's words.

I let out a low whistle. "Gandalf makes a good point."

Thorin ignored me and said, "This map is the legacy of my people. It's secrets are mine to protect."

"Thorin also makes a good point," I said. "But Gandalf's was better."

"I regret inviting you to come," said Thorin. He pulled the map out of his cloak and stiffly handed it to Elrond. Balin tried to stop him, but Thorin had already given it over.

Elrond carefully opened the map. "Erebor? What interest do you have in Erebor?"

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but Gandalf cut across him. "A purely academic interest, I assure you."

I covered my smile with the back of my hand. What part of Thorin looked _academic_?

"Moon runes," said Elrond suddenly.

"Say what?" I looked at Thorin and Balin to see if they were also confused. Thorin nodded once and Balin smiled. Only Bilbo shared my puzzled expression.

"They can only be read by the light of the same moon of the same season on which they were written," said Elrond. He started to walk out of the hall and the rest of us quickly followed.

"That's highly inconvenient," I said. "Why would anyone write like that?"

"It is not for convenience," said Balin.

"Then what is it for?" I asked.

"Secrecy."

"Oh." I frowned. "Duh. I feel stupid now."

"You do not always feel stupid?" asked Thorin. (I swear that jerk smirked at me.)

"You know," I said. "You would think after awhile I would get used to your constant insults. But no, no—it still stings."

"You mean my majestic insults," said Thorin.

Slowly, a wide grin spread across my face. "Yep. Majestic insults sting the worst."

Elrond lead us to a stone entryway into the side of the valley. The arched entrance was not made out of neatly carved granite like most of Rivendell. It was built more like a cave, rough and jagged. The tunnel turned to the left almost instantly and I could not see where it came out.

"Where are you leading us?" asked Thorin.

"We are in luck," said Elrond. "Your…_research_ is fated, Thorin Oakenshield. The season is right and the same moon shines down on us tonight. I can read the moon runes on this map, if you would so permit me."

"I do so permit you," said Thorin. "Lead on."

As we entered the tunnel, I muttered under my breath to Bilbo. "As if Elrond needs Thorin's _permission_ to do anything."

"I heard that," said Thorin.

I smiled sweetly at him. "Did you now?"

The tunnel let to the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It was a ledge in the valley's walls. The ledge looked out over the trees and rivers of the valley, but the view was blurred by a waterfall that poured down over the front of the ledge, like a veil. A white stone was embedded in the ledge with a flat top that formed a sort of table. In the pure moonlight, the stone emitted a pure white light.

Elrond placed the map on the stone table. The white light struck the back of the paper and glowing runes appeared on the old paper.

"What does it say?" murmured Balin.

"It says—stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

"Durin's Day?" asked Bilbo. (Thank God he asked the question for me—otherwise I would have seemed stupid again.)

"It is the dwarves new year," explained Gandalf.

"Durin's Day is not far off," said Balin. "We do not have much time."

Thorin stiffed.

"So that is your purpose," said Elrond. "To enter the mountain."

"You mean to stop us?" said Thorin.

He had his stubborn face on. His jaw was set into position and his eyes had a fighting gleam to them. He would not budge no matter how much Elrond may try to convince him otherwise.

Perhaps Elrond knew this because he simply said, "There are some who would not deem it wise."

To that, Thorin said nothing.

"Ana! Wake up!"

I opened only to find that it was still dark out. I groaned and rolled over in bed. "Let me sleep a few more hours or years."

"Ana! You must get out of bed!"

"I'm hibernating. Let me know when winter is over…"

"We are leaving now."

I sat upright and turned to stare at Bofur. He was fully dressed in his travel clothes and ready to go.

"We leave in five minutes," said Bofur. "Gandalf left you some travel clothes." He pointed to the end of my bed. "Also, we are leaving in secret, so be quiet about it."

"Why did no one wake me sooner!?" I cried.

"I think Thorin wished to leave you behind," said Bofur. "But the rest of us could not allow it."

"That jerk!" I jumped out of bed and grabbed the clothes Gandalf had left me. "I'll be ready in _four _minutes."

Well, actually I was ready in six—but who's counting? I raced out of the Rivendell after the dwarves. Thorin led the way along the valley path. (Gandalf had remained behind for a meeting with Elrond, but he would catch up with us later on.) We tried to move quietly through the dark. From what I could tell, no elves spotted out departure. But then again, I was not the most observant person around—so what I could tell really counted for nothing.

We walked along the mountain path until the sun rose on the horizon, marking the beginning of a new day. Bilbo looked wistfully over his shoulder at the splendor of Rivendell.

"You might come back," I said, thinking of the Council of Elrond.

"Maybe," said Bilbo. "It would be nice to have endless time there. I could imagine a life spent at the fireside, listening to the songs and music of the elves."

I grinned. "Don't let Thorin hear you say that. His elf-regurgitation reflex has yet to be cured."

"His elf-what?" asked Bilbo.

I sighed. "Why do I bother making jokes anymore? If I were in Ohio everyone would laugh."

Walking a little behind Bilbo and me, Fili leaned over and muttered to Kili, "I think Ana has an unrealistic vision of herself."

The road from Rivendell was long and hard. Some of the dwarves actually missed the comfort of the elven halls (not that they would tell Thorin that). Eventually the path led to the Misty Mountains, which the Company would have to cross in order to reach Erebor.

The climb up was agonizing (I had been on Cadahras not too long ago), but at least there was no snow this time. The path became only a ledge, jutting out from the side of the mountain. It was dangerous to walk on. The dwarves seemed for sure footed than Bilbo and me. We shuffled along the ledge, eyeing the bottomless ravine below.

And then the rain started. Not just raid, but thunder and lightning. The rocky path became slippery and lightning would strike the mountainside, causing rocks to fall. Death seemed all the more certain.

"Why are you afraid?" asked Gloin. "If you fall, you will simply Skip back to your world."

"It's still scary!" I cried. "What if this one time I don't Skip! I could die!"

"You are a lot safer than me," said Bilbo.

There was a crack of lightning. We all pushed ourselves against the mountainside as rocks tumbled past us and fell into the ravine.

"That was a close one," said Bofur.

"Look!" cried Kili, pointing somewhere off into the distance

We followed his direction and there—beside a mountain peak—was a giant. Now, I know that sounds insane. You're probably thinking, "Ana, you've lost it. This story is getting too ridiculous." And I agree. But I'm telling the truth. Amongst the rain and thunder and lightning, this giant made of stone stood by a mountain.

"A giant." My voice was oddly high pitched. "A giant. Made of stone. Ha. A giant. Of stone. Look, there's a giant made of stone."

"Who is stating the obvious now, Ana," said Kili.

The giant broke a piece of the mountain off and hurled the rock towards us. For a second, I thought the rock was going to hit us, but it sailed over our heads and struck another stone giant in the head.

"A thunder battle!" cried Balin.

"Look out!" cried Nori.

The second giant leaned down and broke a piece off the mountain to use as a weapon. Unfortunately, the piece he used was where Bilbo, Kili, Dwalin, Gloin, Bofur, and I stood.

A deep cracking sound and suddenly, I was no longer on solid ground. The mountain was moving, moving, moving. We were standing on a rock meant for throwing. All the giant had to do was throw us or drop us and we would die.

"Oh my God!" I cried, grabbing hold of Gloin in my panic. "Not this! Not like this! Don't let me die!"

"We can jump," said Dwalin. He gasped Bilbo by the shoulder and held the hobbit in place. "If the giant moves us close enough to the ledge, we can jump for it."

I could see the over dwarves standing on the mountainside. Fili was shouting something at us. Oin was motioning for us to jump. Thorin looked desperate and Ori looked just plain scared.

Another crack.

The other giant had thrown another piece of the mountain at the giant holding us. The giant stumbled, his stone legs getting caught in the ravine. He tripped. His hands went flying. Our rock flew towards the mountainside. It was going to fast. We were going to smash into the mountainside and become dead dwarf pancakes.

I screamed.

"Jump!" roared Dwalin.

We jumped. Dear God, we jumped for our lives.

I don't really remember the details of what happened. But Gloin pushed my off the rock and jumped after me. My head slammed onto the ledge and I scrambled for something to hold onto. Bofur—I think it was Bofur—landed on top of me. The rock smashed against the mountainside. Debris shattered around us. An intense darkness filled the air.

And then it was gone.

I breathed in. "Bofur! Get off of me!"

"Urg," groaned Bofur. "Do not do that again."

He rolled to the side and I felt his weight leave me. I sat up and groaned. "How did we survive that?"

"Kili!"

"Dwalin!"

"Gloin!"

"Bilbo!"

"Bofur!"

"Ana!"

The other dwarves ran along the mountain ledge, coming to meet us after our wild ride. Fili embraced his brother in a tight hug, while Oin and Gloin thumped each other on the backs. Thorin visibly relaxed when he saw that we were all in one piece.

I grinned at him. "Thorin! Why didn't you come for the ride? It was fun."

"Oh," he said. "You survived. What a disappointment."

"That's mean!" I cried. "I feared for my life!"

"My aching back." Bilbo stood up and rubbed his pained shoulders. "I should have stayed back in Rivendell where the only pains were those of eating too much food."

"Go back then," said Thorin stiffly. "Do you prefer it in Rivendell? Go back then. I am sure the elves desire the presence of a lost hobbit that we do."

Bilbo did not respond to Thorin, but kept his head bowed. For a second, I debated saying _something_ to Thorin, but when I opened my mouth, the words died on my lips. Thorin would probably say the same thing to me.

"There was a cave back there," said Balin. "It might be wise to leave the mountain path until the storm passes."

Thorin nodded. "Lead on, Balin."

Sure enough, back along the trail there was a small opening in the rock—big enough for a dwarf to pass through. The opening led to a much larger cave. The dwarves settled down and found that there was enough room for them all to lie down and spend the night.

"Bofur," said Thorin. "You will take the first shift."

"Kili! Get off of me!" cried Fili.

Kili lay down on the ground, practically on top of his brother and said, "I cannot. There is not room."

"Tell Dori to budge over," said Fili. "I cannot sleep with you hair in my face."

"There is no room to budge over," said Dori. "Not unless Oin is taking up all the floor space."

"Bombur takes up all the room," said Oin irritably.

"I am sitting up," said Bombur.

"This is not very comfortable," said Nori.

"Think of it as snug," said Ori.

I stepped over the sleeping dwarves in the little spaces available and made my way across the room to where Thorin was sleeping (or, at least, trying to sleep.)

"This looks like a comfy spot," I said, settling down next to him.

"You are not sleeping here," said Thorin.

"Tough. This is the only spot left."

"You can sleep on top of the hobbit," said Thorin. "I am sure he makes a good mattress."

"And I'm sure you make a better one." I paused. "Your majestic locks might make a good blanket. I think if you rolled over I can spread your hair out…It might actually work."

"No."

I sighed and lay down on the ground, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. "Mean. You shouldn't keep all that hair to yourself. Sharing is caring."

He ignored me.

"You know," I said. "You could sing me a lullaby with that beautiful voice of yours."

"I am trying to sleep."

"Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm terrible at singing."

Thorin did not answer. We lay there in silence for a good long while. I could not sleep and neither, I think, could Thorin. One by one, the other dwarves fell silent and the deep sound of their snoring filled the cave. Outside, the rain and thunder roared throughout the mountains. I did not think the storm would end even by morning.

"Thorin," I whispered. "I cannot sleep."

No response.

"I know you're not sleeping."

"Shut up. I was having a good dream."

"Was I in it?"

"No. That is why it was a good dream."

"Thorin!" I hissed. "Why must you—"

"Where are you going?" asked Bofur.

Beside me, Thorin tensed, straining to head Bofur's conversation. I could see Bofur sitting by the cave exit taking to a packed and ready-to-leave Bilbo.

"Home," said Bilbo. "Look, Thorin was right. I am not cut out for this type of thing. I want my home. I want my bed, I want my fire, and I want my meals seven times a day."

"You cannot leave now," said Bofur. "You are one of us now."

"But I am not, now am I?" said Bilbo. "I am not made for this. You dwarves, you dwarves are used to this—always on the road, never at home, never belonging anyw—" Bilbo stopped himself. "Sorry."

"No," said Bofur softly. "No, you are right. We do not belong anywhere." Somehow (I am always amazed by this) Bofur managed to smile. "Bilbo, I wish you all the luck in the world."

Bilbo hesitated for a split second and then nodded. "Thank you. Well, I'll be off."

"What is that?" asked Bofur, pointing at the blade strapped to Bilbo's side. Through the dim light, I could see Sting glowing blue.

There was a low groan.

"Get up!" roared Thorin. He leapt to his feet. "Get up!"

The other dwarves had barely opened their eyes when the floor opened and swallowed them whole.

The floor did not swallow me, however. I was long gone at that point.

* * *

**A/N: Please review!**


	12. How To Change The Future

**XII: How To Change The Future**

The snowplow had been down the road. I landed in a pile of dirty snow on the side of the road. A car raced by and sprayed muddy ice water on the bottoms of my pants.

"Thanks! Try being a little ruder next time" I shouted. Of course, he couldn't hear me, but it made me feel better. I slid out of the snow pile and make my way across the parking lot back to the shopping center. I was muddy, wet, and dressed in Middle Earth clothing. God, I must look a mess.

"Look Mommy!" cried some little boy, tugging on the sleeve of his mother's shirt. "That girl is dressed funny!"

I smiled and waved at the mother. "The Renaissance Fair is in town. You should go check it out!"

She leaned over and hissed to her son. "Hush! It's rude to point!" Then she straightened up to apologize to me, but it was too late. I was already gone.

I stood over a tomb. I was inside a dwarf hall, I was sure of it. The walls were made of stone and other than a thin hole in the ceiling that allowed a ray of light to strike the tomb, the hall was dark.

There was not another living being in sight. I sighed and sat down on the tomb with my legs crossed. Mayhap someone would show up eventually, my Skips seemed to be landing in very specific locations recently. Before I had Skipped to anyplace and anytime in Middle Earth. But now I had been spending a lot of time with Thorin and Company and the Fellowship. Chances were one of them would show up soon. Or I would just Skip back home eventually. Besides, I did not fancy walking around a strange mountain by myself. Who knew what was waiting in the dark.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I began to realize what horror were in the room with me. Dead bodies. Skeletons. Dwarf skeletons. Their empty eye sockets watched my every move. They seemed to be smiling at me, their deformed jaws laughing even with arrowed sticking out of their skulls and chests.

"Oh ew," I said.

The closest skeleton to me was holding a wooden bucket and sitting on the side of a well. His skull was tilted to the side and he smiled at me maliciously.

"What you looking at?" I asked.

He didn't respond.

"My gorgeous face?" I grinned. "It looks better than yours."

No response.

"At least I'm alive."

Still no response.

"You know," I said. "It's kind of homey in here. Once you get used to the dead bodies. I can understand why you chose to die here. If there was a nicer place for a dwarf to die, I have yet to see it.'

Silence.

"Yeash! I'm trying to make conversation here!" I crossed my arms. "Conversation is a two way thing. We need effort from both sides."

"You are more crazy than I thought."

I screamed and fell off my seat. "Oh God, the skeleton spoke! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"

"She is a little insane," said another voice.

I turned around. Boromir and Legolas stood in the doorway of the hall, wide grins on both their faces.

"That wasn't nice!" I cried, getting to my feet and brushing some dirt off my pants. I paused and lifted my head to look at the two of them. They both seemed ot be whole and unharmed. A wide grin spread across my face. "You're alive!"

"Yes," said Boromir. "I do not remember dying."

"She really is insane," said Legolas.

"What are you two looking at?" Gimli shoved his way between Legolas and Boromir. He froze as he entered the room, his brown eyes growing wide.

"Hey, Gimli!" I said, waving.

"Balin," said Gimli softly.

"Huh?" I pointed at myself. "No, I am Ana. Balin is a little grumpy dwarf with a white beard."

"Balin!" Gimli sprinted forward and clutched the edges of the tomb I had been sitting on. Tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes and Gimli knelt before the tomb, moaning.

"What is it? What do you see?" Gandalf strode into the hall with the hobbits following close behind him. He caught one look at me and then strode forward to read the runes carved into the tomb. "Here lays Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria."

"Balin?" I said. "This is _Balin's_ tomb." I stepped away from the rock, my eyes wide with shock. "I sat on his tomb…Balin! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't know it was yours!"

"Hush," said Gandalf. "We have entered Moria in secret. We want to remain undetected."

I stopped panicking and stared at Gandalf. "Moria? We're in Moria?"

"Yes."

"You didn't take the Gap of Rohan?"

Gandalf watched me carefully for a second and then said, "You told me not to take the Gap of Rohan."

A wide grin spread across my face and I nodded. "Yeah. Good. You would have died if you took the Gap of Rohan."

"We would have died?" said Aragorn. "And how do you know that?"

I shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You didn't take the Gap of Rohan."

"Yes," said Gandalf. "But now we face the darkness of Moria. Here, an even more terrible fate may await us."

"But you're alive," I said. "That's got to count for something."

"Where are we?" asked Boromir, looking around the hall.

"Nowhere good," said Pippin eyeing the skeletons by the well.

"Be careful," said Boromir. "That one talks."

I glared at him and Legolas while they shared the inside joke.

"There is a book," said Merry. He pointed to one of the skeletons. A beaten and battered book lay beneath the bony fingers, clutched against the exposed ribcage.

"Perhaps we can know what happened here," said Aragorn.

Gandalf carefully plucked the book from the skeleton's fingers. He flipped through the pages, skimming the runes.

"So what would happen if we went to the Gap of Rohan?" asked Aragorn.

I shook my head. "Nothing good."

"We would die," said Boromir.

"Yes," said Aragorn. "But how?"

"Orcs and wargs," I said. "Arrows and swords. How do you expect to die? It's not a happy memory of mine, okay!"

There was a pause.

"I would not mind some nice tatters right now," said Sam. "Cooked until golden."

"That sounds good," I said, nodding.

"Here," said Gandalf, pausing at a page some two-thirds of the way through the book. "I cannot make out many of the words, but this is what the book says—years since…ready sorrow…yesterday being the tenth of November. Balin, lord of Moria, fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirrormere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. We slew the orc, but many more came…up from east up the Silverlode…we rescued Balin's body...a sharp battle—we have barred the gates but doubt if…can hold them long. If there is…no escape it will be a horrible fate to suffer, but I shall hold."

"That is ominous," said Legolas softly.

"There is more," said Gandalf. "We cannot get out. We cannot get out. They have taken the bridge and Second Hall. Frar and Loni and Nali fell there bravely while the rest…Mazarbul. We still…but hope—I cannot read this part—Oin's party went five days ago but today only four returned. The pool is up to the wall at West-gate. The Watcher in the Water took Oin—we cannot get out. The end comes soon. We hear drums, drums in the deep."

"Drums?" said Merry nervously.

"Balin," I said. "And Oin? Who else came here?"

"Ori too," said Gimli. "Frar, Loni, and Nali."

"All of them?" I said. "Ori is so adorable! How could this happen?"

"Ori wrote this recount," said Gandalf.

I blinked and turned to stare at the deformed skeleton from which Gandalf had taken the book. "Oh my God. That is—That is—"

I never said it. I was interrupted by a bang. Pippin touched hand of the skeleton by the well and it lost its balance. Down through the well, clanging against the sides, the skeleton went. The noise rang through the mines—clang, clang, clank.

We stood in silence, waiting, listening.

"There is no way that went unnoticed," said Aragorn.

"Fool of a Took!" cried Gandalf. "You have doomed us all!"

Pippin bowed his head in shame. "I did not mean to…"

"Shush!" said Aragorn. He stood still, his head cocked to the side, listening intensely. "Can you hear it?"

Legolas frowned. "Drums."

"Drums?" asked Sam. "Why are there drums?"

"The door!" Boromir leapt across the door. He managed to get two steps outside the hall before he spun around and slammed the wooden doors behind him. "They have a cave troll."

"They are here!" cried Gandalf.

"Wait!" I cried. "Who are here? Why are they here? What's going on?"

"We are under attack," said Boromir as he and Aragorn attempted to board up the doors. "Goblins!"

"Eh?"

Gandalf drew his elven sword, which glowed blue in the dark. The hobbits and I cowered behind Gandalf. I drew the Sword Breaker and prayed to whoever might be listening that I could use it properly this time. Legolas drew his bow and waited. Gimli hopped onto of Balin's tomb (talk about disrespect) and raised his axe in the air.

"Let them come! There is still one dwarf in Moria who can take heads!"

"I don't like goblins!" I wailed.

"You would think," said Boromir, drawing his sword. "That if fate should send us a girl from another world, they would at least send us someone who does not hide behind the Halflings whenever danger is near."

"What are you saying?" I said suspiciously.

Boromir grinned. "Try not to die."

The doors shattered and a giant, ugly cave troll came storming into the hall, swinging his club. Goblins raced in after him, screaming terrible things in their terrible language.

The trolls caught sight of Frodo. It sniffed and charged forward towards the hobbits and me. I screamed and sprinted to the other side of the room. A goblin leapt at me—Legolas shot it in the head with an arrow.

"Thanks!" I cried before screaming and running away from another goblin.

I cannot say this was my most heroic battle. The scene kind of went like this: Boromir slice off an goblin's head. I ran past him, screaming. Gimli cleaved an orc in two with his axe. I ran past him, screaming. Sam whacked a goblin the face with a frying pan. I ran past him, screaming. Aragorn saved Pippin from the end of a goblin's blade. I ran past them, screaming. Legolas shot the cave troll in the nose. I ran past him, screaming. Gandalf sliced open a goblin's chest. I ran past him, screaming.

Hey, I never said I was a hero.

I think eventually the trolls decided to target me just because I would not shut up. It stumbled around the room, swinging its club and trying to lob off my head. I screamed and dodged behind a pillar.

"Ana?"

"Frodo!" I cried. "You decided to hide behind this pillar too?"

The troll whacked the pillar with his club. Rock came crashing down on Frodo's and my heads. I dove to the left. Frodo dove to the right. The troll went right too.

"Ow!" I sat up and rubbed my head. "Frodo?"

I couldn't see him amongst the dust and rubble of the fallen pillar. There was a grunt. I spun around just in time to see a goblin bringing his sword down on my head. I lifted the Sword Breaker above my head. The comb caught the blade between its teeth. I twisted—the sword was wrenched out of the goblin's hands and thrown to the ground at my feet.

"Ah!" I stared at the fallen blade. "Hey…Hey! I did it! I did it! I used the Sword Breaker pro—"

The goblin head-butted me.

Well, so much for my victory. I staggered away, blinking rapidly until the world came back to normal. Then I went back to screaming and running away from anything that moved.

"Frodo!" screamed Merry.

I spun around just in time to see the troll run through Frodo with a spear. Frodo's eyes went very wide and he let out a low moan before sinking to the ground.

A cold fear struck me. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. They could not die again. I saved them. I know I saved them.

"Ana! Look out!"

Gandalf drove his sword through the chest of a goblin that was about to slice off my head. I stood there—dazed. "Thanks…"

"Do not just stand there!" roared Gandalf. "Do something! Run around screaming for all I care! But do not stand there like an incompetent fool!"

I blinked. "Wha—?"

"We are in the middle of a battle! Move!"

That seemed to snap me out of it. I straightened up and gripped the handle of the Sword Breaker. "Who me? Gandalf. If there is anyone good at fleeing like an expert, it's me." And then, I turned tail and ran.

Legolas brought down the cave troll while the others finished off the goblins. Amongst the piles of corpses, we stood, panting for breath. Merry and Pippin rushed to Frodo's side. The hobbit sat up and rubbed his chest.

"I am fine," he said.

"How is this possible?" asked Aragorn.

Frodo opened his shirt to reveal the white, glittering chain mail beneath.

"Mithril," said Gimli.

"What is that?" I asked. (Always the ignorant one.)

"It is a type of armor made by the dwarves," said Gandalf. "Bilbo received a shirt from Thorin as a reward for helping to defeat Smaug." Gandalf smiled at Frodo. "I supposed he has passed it on, now."

Frodo nodded and closed his shirt again.

"Good," I said. "Good job, Thorin. Remind me to thank that majestic man when I next see him."

"More goblins will come," said Aragorn, glancing at the ruined doors of the hall. "We must leave now."

"Head for the Bridge of Khazad-Dum," said Gandalf. "It is the only way out."

Aragorn led the way through the doors and deeper into the mines. Legolas and Gimli followed close after Aragorn. The hobbits and I scurried after them with Gandalf and Boromir bringing up the rear. We were being chased but goblins and trolls. Our lives were on the line. We could die at any second.

I was smiling.

"This is a life or death situation," said Gandalf. "Now is not the time for your humor."

"I'm not being humorous," I said. "Frodo is alive. He didn't die. Nope. Not this time."

"You are as insane as always," said Boromir. "Now run faster."

We stepped through an archway into the vast halls of Moria. Now _that_ is a sight worth seeing. I have been to the halls of Erebor before. I have seen the gold Erebor has to offer. But Moria. Moria is a whole different playing field. The ceilings stretched so high that I could not see the roof. The pillars were thick, each one decorated with its own unique and intricate carvings and dwarf runes. The hall was empty and lifeless, save for the Fellowship and me sprinting across the stone ground. And yet there was so much going on in the hall. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. So vast and so empty. This was Moria.

My awe was brought to an abrupt halt by the arrival of goblins.

A single shrill cry. And then they were everywhere. Like ants, they swarmed over the hall. They bared their teeth and waved their weapons about. In a circle, they drew closer to us. They did not attack, savoring our fear. The Fellowship drew into a tight circle. Gandalf and Frodo's swords shone in the darkness. The only light in this cold place filled with deformed goblins.

"There is no way out!" cried Legolas.

I grinned at him. "Way to state the obvious, Elf."

"Why are you smiling?" asked Sam.

"Because," I said. "Frodo is alive."

"And we are all about to be," said Gandalf. "So stop smiling."

"But he's alive," I said. "Look at his aliveness. He's breathing and talking and holding a sword. He can be afraid of the goblins because he's alive!"

"This is a little uncomfortable to listen to," said Frodo.

"We are about to die," said Gandalf. "A little bit of seriousness here would be appreciated."

I grinned. "Sure thing, Gandalf."

"You are not listening," said Boromir.

The goblins had formed a complete circle around us. There was no way out. We were trapped—face to face with the pointy ends of their weapons. It was the end. I was still smiling.

And then, a low crack echoed through the hall. A red light shone brilliantly in the distance, lighting the far end of the hall.

The goblins froze. Their pale eyes widened with horror.

"What is it?" asked Boromir.

The goblins fled.

I have ever seen them run so fast as they did right then. One moment, they were threatening to kill us all. The next, we stood alone in an empty hall, staring at the growing fires in the distance.

"Well," I said. "That was convenient."

"They got a good look at my axe," said Giml, laughing.

"Or your face," I said.

Aragorn stepped closer to Gandalf. "What is it? What new evil draws closer?"

Gandalf frowned. "Fire and shadow. We cannot fight this new evil." Gandalf turned around. "Run! Fly! The Bridge of Khazad-Dum is nearest!"

"What is it?" asked Boromir.

Gandalf was already running. "A balrog is come."

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**A/N: All reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	13. One Does Not Smile In Moria

**XIII: One Does Not Smile In Moria**

I can see by your face that you're very confused by the whole Skipping thing. She's Skipping worlds! And time! And what on Earth is even going on in her life!?

It's okay. That was my reaction too. As my Skipping adventures took over my life more and more, I started trying to form rules that the Skipping must follow. 1) The Skips always took me to Ohio to Middle Earth to Ohio to Middle Earth. 2) I could not go to the same time twice. 3) My actions in a past time will affect my actions in a future time, but I will not remember the changes. 4) My appearance is not a constant event: So if I were to meet Thorin at Rivendell and he met me for the first time there, and then I Skip to Bag End, he would be meeting me for the first time again. And this would change our meeting to Bag End so that it is no longer a first meeting.

Yeah, those rules confuse me too—and I wrote them!

But it doesn't matter anyway. By the time I finish my story, every single one of those rules will be broken. If I have learned anything in my life, it is that the Skipping does what it wants when it wants. I have no control over it.

Side note aside, where were we in the story? Oh yeah. Durin's Bane. The terror of the dwarves that kept them far from the magnificence of Moria. The balrog.

So, the goblins ran away from the balrog, saving us from certain death. But then we had to deal with the balrog. Aragorn and Boromir wanted to fight, but Gandalf told us to run. So, run we did.

Aragorn led the way, sprinting down the massive hall and taking a sharp left turn into a smaller passage way. Boromir followed close behind Aragorn, holding a flaming torch high above his head to light the way.

"Why must we run," grunted Gimli. "We should stand and fight."

"This foe is beyond any of you!" said Gandalf. "Run!"

I tried to keep up with the others as best I could. It is a sad day when hobbits can run faster than you. My breath came in wheezing pants and I found myself getting further and further behind the rest of the Fellowship. Finally, Legolas turned around and carried me on his back.

"You are heavy," he said, sprinting after the Fellowship and catching up with amazing speed.

"And you're a show off," I said. "Thanks."

"It would be a terrible fate to die in this place so deep beneath the earth," said Legolas. "If you are to die, then die in a place of trees and animals. The dark is no place to be laid to rest."

"Meh," I said. "It's not so bad down here, you know. The only real problem with this place is that it's infected by goblins and a really, really nasty balrog."

Aragorn turned right and came to an abrupt halt. Boromir kept running, only to reach a dead end where the stairs had been broken and the drop led into an abyss to which the end could not be seen. Boromir wobbled on the edge of the stairs until Aragorn grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him to safety.

"Back! Back!" roared Aragorn.

We turned around a sprinted a little further down the hall before taking another right. We made it about halfway down the stairs until we reached a gap in the crumbling staircase. The gap was only about two feet wide, but the fall was dreadful. Gimli accidentally knocked a piece of debris off the stairs and it fell down, down, down—never hitting anything, just falling—until it disappeared from sight. The bottom was yet to be found.

Legolas—even with me on his back—easily jumped over the gap. He placed me on the ground and held out his arms for the next person to jump. Gandalf hopped the gap and Legolas steadied him to make sure he did not fall.

Another chunk of the staircase fell away, widening the gap by about a foot.

"Here!" Boromir grabbed Pippin and Merry, one with each arm, and leapt over the gap. He barely made it, but the three were safe. I pulled Merry and Pippin to the back with me and we watched with bated breath as the rest of the Fellowship battled the gap. Sam jumped next with a little helping push from Aragorn. Boromir and Legolas caught Sam and he moved to the back of the stairs.

"Gimli," said Legolas, holding out his arms.

Aragorn moved to grasp Gimli, but Gimli held out his hand. "Nobody tosses a dwarf."

Gimli jumped across the gap, he almost missed, but at the last second, Legolas caught hold of Gimli's beard and hauled him back onto the staircase.

"You can join Ana in the ranks of the Beard-Defilers," muttered Gimli as he fixed his beard.

Legolas did not answer since he faced a new problem. After Gimli had jumped, the stairs had crumbled. The gap was now around five or six feet. Frodo and Aragorn were left to face this gap.

I buried my face in my hands. "They're going to make. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it."

"What are you doing?" asked Merry.

"I'm trying to hypnotize myself into positive thinking. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it.'

"Is this another weird ritual from your world?" asked Pippin.

"No—this is my own weird ritual. They're going to make it. They're going to make it. They're going to make it."

Aragorn hurled Frodo across the gap with all his might. For a second, I thought Frodo was going to fall. But Legolas and Boromir reached out their arms and caught Frodo. Safe. And. Sound.

I did not much have time to breathe a sigh of relief, but it was Aragorn's turn to jump. Aragorn got a running start—leapt—he was in the air for a long time—landed. And then the balrog appeared.

On the other side of the hall, there was a great flash of red light. Flames crackled and danced about the walls. I turned my eyes to the blinding light. From amongst the fires, a shadow appeared. That was the first—and last—balrog I will ever see. And, let me tell you, once is more than enough to last a lifetime. The balrog was hideous. Its face was a blackened skull with two thick horns curling out of his head. His body was a massive black-burned skeleton given substance only by the flames that danced between his ribs. The balrog's feet and hands were claws, clinging to the walls of Moria. From across the hall, it caught sight of us. Its eyes glowed red and it spread its black wings. A deep howled rose in its throat. It screamed—a high pitched, piercing scream.

"Run!" cried Gandalf, his hands plastered over his ears. "The bridge is near!"

I led the sprint down the stairs. I skipped steps, sometimes taking four of five at a time. At one point, I thought I was going to trip and fall over the edge of the staircase (apparently dwarves never thought of railings). Aragorn caught my wrist and kept me stable. I cried my thanks and continued running. The balrog took flight. He landed on the staircase and the stone crumbled under his great weight. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the balrog falling into the abyss. Then, the balrog spread his wings and flew out of the abyss.

"Is it just me or did the balrog just have a clumsy moment?" I asked.

"I do not care about the gracefulness of the balrog right now!" said Aragorn.

I shrugged. "Just saying. That's kind of embarrassing. He's like—oh, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you—oops, I tripped." I laughed. "That's not nearly as frightening."

"How about," said Gandalf. "Instead of talking, you focus on running."

We reached the end of the stairs and passed through a dark hallway. On the other side of the hallway was the Bridge of Khazad-Dum. It was a simple bridge, an arching structure of stone over a fifty food wide abyss. The bridge was thin—we could only cross one at a time. Boromir went first, followed by me (I just wanted to get out of there), Frodo, Pippin, Gimli, Merry, Sam, and Legolas. Gandalf brought up the rear.

I had just made it to the other side of the bridge when the balrog arrived. He stood on the other side of the abyss, cracking his flaming whip.

My heart froze and I clutched Boromir's sleeve. "This is not good."

"No," he said. "It is not."

Gandalf stopped halfway across the bridge.

The rest of us reached the end and turned around. Frodo turned pale and tried to run back across the bridge, but Aragorn stopped him.

"Gandalf!" cried Frodo. "Gandalf!"

Gandalf paid us no mind. He faced the monstrous balrog, sword and staff raised. "You shall not pass."

I buried my face in my hands. "He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live. He's going to live."

"Not this again!" cried Merry.

"It worked last time!"

Gandalf muttered something in an ancient tongue. The balrog brought his sword of flames crashing down on Gandalf's head. Gandalf repelled the sword with magic. A blue light filled the chasm and then disappeared. The balrog let out a terrible roar of frustration. The balrog stepped out onto the bridge. The stone trembled beneath the creatures great weight.

"Gandalf!" screamed Frodo.

Gandalf lifted his staff into the air. "You shall not pass!" And then he brought his staff crashing down on the bridge.

Silence.

Nothing happened.

"Is he still alive?" I whispered.

And then the bridge cracked in two. The balrog let out a cry as the stone he stood on broke and he fell down into the pit below.

But the balrog was not done yet. With a snap of his whip, he caught hold of Gandalf and pulled the wizard down into the abyss with him. Gandalf was gone.

We could not speak. We could only stand and stare at the last spot where Gandalf stood. He was gone. He was gone. He was really gone.

Frodo was still trying to save Gandalf. He wanted to run out to the bridge, but Aragorn kept a firm grasp on Frodo. Goblins had appeared on the other side of the bridge and were firing arrows at us. Aragorn hauled Frodo away from the bridge and towards the exit. Gimli was crying and Legolas, stone-faced, patted the dwarf on the shoulder. Merry and Pippin were holding onto on another, trying to keep themselves moving forward. Sam walked on his own, but his head was bent and his eyes were red.

I was not crying. I sprinted ahead of everyone else—up the stairs and through the exit. "Free!" I cried, stepping out into the sunlight. "We are free!"

"Ana," said Boromir, stepping out onto the mountainside. "Ana. Stop."

"Stop what?" I asked, smiling.

A single tear trickled down Boromir's face. He sat on the ground and sighed. "Stop."

"He won't stay dead," I said. "I will bring him back to life. I can change it. I can change it."

"What can you change?" asked Pippin.

"I will save him," I said. "I will Skip and I will save him. I'll tell him not to fight the balrog and, and, and then he won't die."

"Ana," said Boromir. "Stop."

"Not even you can put an end to death," said Aragorn.

"I have to try!" I cried. "I have to try!"

"Some things are meant to happen."

"And some things aren't mean to happen!" I said. My voice broke on the last word. "Am I supposed to just let him _stay_ dead? I can do something! I can do _something_!" I stopped and then managed a weak smile. "This is my fault. It's karma. It's because I smiled in Moria. _One does not smile in Moria_. One can only cry in the dark…" I buried my face in my hands and sobbed.

"We have to leave," said Aragorn.

said Gimli, pointing. "Give us a moment for pities sake!" said Boromir.

"By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs," said Aragorn. "On your feet, Sam." He helped the hobbit to a standing position. "Where is Frodo?"

"Over there,"

Boromir helped Merry and Pippin up. He turned to me. "Can you stand?"

I wiped the tears off my face with the back of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about me so much. I mean, I know I suck at running and fighting and doing pretty much anything useful—but I can _stand_."

"You are terrible at coping with grief," said Boromir.

"Shut up," I said. "I'll have you know, I cried just like everyone else during the _Titanic_. I can totally handle grief."

"I have no idea what the Titanic is," said Boromir.

"She has returned to making references unknown to the rest of us," said Legolas. "She must be back to normal."

I rolled my eyes. "The Titantic was this huge ship that the people who made it bragged about it being in destructible. So a bunch of people got on it and it set sail. It was a huge thing. Then, of course, the boast hit an iceberg and sank." I laughed. "So much for indestructible."

"They should have been watching out for the iceberg," said Legolas. "That was not very clever of them."

"They made a movi—story of it," I said. "It was such a cute romance! It was this rich upper class girl and a poor boy. And the poor boy showed her a world she never could have imagined and they loved each other, but then the Titantic sank and they landed in the water and she was on top of a piece of driftwood and he was in the water, and she lived but he died and it was so sad!"

"Why did they not both get on the driftwood?" asked Legolas.

"Because…" I frowned. "I don't know. Because she kept falling off."

"She is kind of selfish," said Legolas. He frowned. "Oh, so that is why you enjoy the story so much. You can relate to the girl."

"You people cannot understand a love story," I said.

Legolas smiled, but his smile soon faded and a look of great sorrow passed over his face.

"I want some coffee," I said. "A nice latte maybe. That'd be good. Have you ever had a latte before? Probably not. Lattes are amazing. You should try one sometime."

No one was listening to me. Their heads were bent and they stared at the ground. Merry and Pippin were still sobbing while Frodo had wandered off by some stream. Aragorn was trying desperately to get everyone moving, but no one had the heart for it. Grief had taken the Fellowship.

That did not stop me from talking though.

"I'm going to sit down with my coffee and watch a move. What movie should I watch? _Titantic_, duh. I need popcorn to go with the _Titantic_ though…Coffee and popcorn sound really gross together. Maybe not… Oh, I know, I'll eat the popcorn at the beginning of the movie and then drink the coffee at the end when all the tear-jerker stuff comes on. How does that sound? Does anyone want to join me?"

"We head for Lorien," said Aragorn.

"I'll take that as a no."

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**A/N: Ana cannot handle grief. Please review! Thank you! **


	14. Tree Climbing For Experts

**XIV: Tree Climbing For Experts**

Aragorn led the way down the mountain slopes and across the grasslands. The Fellowship took a short rest for both bodies and hearts. The borders of Lorien still a little ways off, but we could see the rich, green trees that grew closely together.

"I've been to Lorien before," I said, thoughtfully.

"Have you?" asked Boromir.

"I Skipped there once. When I was sixteen, I think. That's where I met Elladan and Elrohir."

"I do not trust Lorien," said Gimli. "They say a powerful sorceress lives in those woods."

"Words spoken only by the ignorant who cannot comprehend what wonders lay in the secret places of the earth," said Aragorn.

"Elves live there, right?" I said.

"Yes," said Legolas. "I have long desired to look upon Lothlorien. If only I could do so under happier circumstances."

"You just had to bring that up," I said as a thick gloom was cast over the Fellowship.

"We must press on," said Aragorn, getting to his feet. "We have almost reached the borders of the woods."

We covered the remainder of the distance to Lorien pretty quickly. I remember entering the forest and feeling very…heavy. I don't know. I don't think I'm a tree person. Legolas seemed to walk a little lighter while Gimli grew more wary and kept looking around suspiciously as if he expected an elf to jump out of the trees and shoot him. Aragorn moved through the trees with some sort of familiarity. The hobbits seemed entirely in awe of the vast forest.

"Time does not pass here," said Boromir softly.

"It's kind of creepy," I said.

"You actually dare to call Lorien _creepy_?" asked Legolas.

"I agree with the Beard Defiler," said Gimli. "There is something that does not sit right here. It is probably the elves. They used witchcraft to move about in secret."

Aragorn sighed. "Dwarves must put more effort into keeping an open mind."

"So must elves," said Gimli. "My father still has not forgiven the Mirkwood elves for his unjust imprisonment."

"So much for keeping an open mind," muttered Sam.

Legolas laughed. "Your father was not mistreated."

"As much as I enjoy watching elves and dwarves bicker," I said. "It might be better to speak a little more quietly…"

"You enjoy watching elves and dwarves bicker?" asked Merry.

"Oh yeah," I said. "It's really amusing. Especially Thorin. Try standing in a room with him and Elrond together. It's like Majestic versus Grand. Best thing ever."

Aragorn laughed softly. "Elrond is very grand."

"He even makes tiaras seem grand," I said. "Did you see that dainty thing on his head? When I first saw it, I thought he'd borrowed the tiara from Arwen. Awkward mistake there."

"Arwen has better taste in jewelry than that," said Aragorn.

I nodded. "True. Maybe it was hers when she was twelve and her mom still picked out her tiaras for her."

"Or maybe Celebrian bought a matching set," said Legolas. "One for little Arwen and one for Lord Elrond."

"Even then," I said. "That's still one _grand_ tiara."

And then, I almost walked into an arrow point. I blinked rapidly, staring at the sharp arrowhead. I took a step backwards and bumped into Boromir. A group of elves encircled up, their bows drawn and pointing at our heads.

"Easy now," I said. "We're just, um, passing through."

The elves snapped something to one another in their language. Then, the tallest of the elves stepped forward. He was, of course, extremely good-looking. (It is the curse of being an elf.)

"We recognize amongst you an elf of our northern kin," he said. "Speak now and tell us your purpose in entering Lothlorien."

"We are not at leisure to give away our business so freely," said Aragorn. "But I can tell you this. We departed from Rivendell and have passed through Moria. We are weary and we seek shelter under the trees of Lorien."

"And who might these travels be?"

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn. This is Legolas, a prince of Mirkwood, Gimli son of Gloin, and Boromir of Gondor. With us are four hobbits: Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee, Meriadoc Bradybuck, and Peregrin Took." Aragorn paused. "And this…This is Ana."

"I'm not really part of the Fellowship," I said. "I just kind of show up and help out form time to time."

"Help out?" muttered Gimli. "More like 'hinder'."

"Aragorn?" said the elf. "I have heard of you. The lost king of Gondor and an elf-friend." He nodded once. "I am Haldir. I am the marchwarden who guards the northern borders of the forest. These are my brothers, Rumil and Orophin." He gestured to the two elves beside him. "You are fortunate, Aragorn son of Arathorn. I have heard whispers of your quest."

"Then can you help us?" asked Aragorn. "We fear we may be pursued by goblins from Moria."

Haldir nodded. "Come this way."

He and his brothers led us deeper into the forest. He came to a stop beside a thick tree with many branches reaching out across the forest floor like a spider's legs. Rumil scampered up the tree with incredible grace, closely followed by Orophin. Haldir turned to us and said, "Our home rests at the top."

"Up there?" wondered Sam aloud.

"If you expect me to climb that, you do not know dwarves very well," said Gimli.

"Or hobbits," said Sam.

I stared up the tree trunk. I could not see the house above the tree branches. Wherever it was, it was high up the tree. "Yeah. This is like tree climbing for experts. I can already see the end. I'm going to get about halfway up the tree with a lot of help from Boromir and then I'm going to slip and fall and go _splat_ on the ground."

"You will not splat," said Boromir. "You will just Skip to another place."

"Splat."

"Ana understand the hobbit predicament very well," said Merry. "Is there not a place on the ground we can stay?"

"Not unless you wish to be found by orcs," said Haldir. "Here. Frodo shall go first and I shall go behind him to help him climb the tree. Then Merry shall go with Aragorn to help him. Legolas will help Pippin. Boromir will help Sam." Haldir paused. "I am sure Ana and Master Gimli can find the strength to climb the tree on their own."

Gimli muttered something in dwarvish that I'm sure was not very nice.

"How about this," said Aragorn. "Legolas shall help Gimli. Haldir shall help both Merry and Pippin. Boromir shall help Ana. And I shall help both Frodo and Sam."

"I will not be helped by an elf," grumbled Gimli.

"Very well then," said Aragorn. I will help you up the tree and Legolas shall help Frodo and Sam."

"Ah, dwarves," I said. "Their stubbornness is so dear to my heart." I turned to Boromir. "You'd better not let me go splat."

"I make no promises," said Boromir. "I still remember all those times you gave me insult while you were drunk."

"I don't like this arrangement!" I cried.

But it was too late. Frodo, Sam, and Legolas had already begun climbing the tree and Merry, Pippin, and Haldir were about to begin. I was stuck with Boromir—even if he was plotting my demise while we climbed.

The journey up the tree went pretty much how we expected. The hobbits were not bad at climbing; however, some of the gaps between branches were so large that Legolas and Haldir would have to lift the hobbits so that they may grab onto the next branch. Gimli grumbled the whole way up the tree, but he refused to accept help from Aragorn despite the fuss he had made earlier. Boromir and I brought up the end and—well—let's just say climbing is not my thing.

"There is a branch just above your head," said Boromir. "Just reach out and grab it."

"I'm going to fall!" I wailed.

"You are lying down on a branch—you will not fall."

"If I move so much as an inch, I am going to slip and fall!"

Boromir sighed. "I'm right beneath you. If you fall, I will catch you."

"No! You won't! You want me to die! And then you'll laugh at my splatter paint corpse!"

"The branch is right next to your head!"

"I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die."

"Why is she traveling with you?" asked Haldir. "She seems more likely to cause your deaths than prevent it."

"We do not have a choice with her," said Legolas. "She comes and goes at unpredictable times."

"The branch! The branch!" cried Boromir. He stopped and sighed. "Fine."

He climbed up the tree and came to rest on the same branch as me. I screamed and wrapped my arms around the branch even tighter than before (if that was possible). "You're going to break it! You're going to break it!"

"Get on my back," said Boromir. "I will carry you up."

"I don't want to!"

"Can we just leave her there?" asked Haldir.

"No!" I wailed. "No! Anything but that!"

"Then get on my back," said Boromir in exasperation.

Trembling, I inched into a sitting position and wrapped my arms around Boromir's neck. He picked me up and began climbing the tree as a much quicker pace. Of course, every time he so much as wobbled, I screamed about "splatter paint corpses"—but for the most part the rest of the journey up the tree was uneventful.

We reached Haldir's tree house (that's really what it was). The elves call them flets. They were platforms built around the tops of the trees. They did not have walls or even rails. For the elves that was not necessary. But for Gimli and I—oh man, was it _scary_.

"Keep walking," said Boromir. "You will be alright."

"Don't look down," I muttered to myself.

In front of me, Gimli stiffened.

"What is it?" I asked. "What did you see?"

"I looked down," said Gimli.

"Is it far?" I asked.

Gimli nodded. "Very far."

I glanced down and uttered a little scream. "Oh my God! That's far!"

"Who was it that said not to look down?" asked Boromir. "Keep moving. I will not let you fall."

We continued along the frets until Haldir came to a stop. Orophin and Rumil waited for us, having conversations in their own tongue. They stopped talking when we arrived.

"What took you so long?" asked Rumil.

Haldir glanced over his shoulder at me. "We had some problems when it came to climbing trees."

"The dwarf?" asked Rumil.

"Surprisingly, no. The short one beside the dwarf."

I smiled at waved at the elves. "My name's Ana. In case you forgot."

The elves ignored me. Eventually, we settled down in the fret. Aragorn and Legolas had long conversations with the elves, while the rest of us watched. Frodo tried to listen to parts of the conversation and I think he got the gist of it. The rest of us were clueless.

"I don't think I'm an elf kind of girl," I said.

"Of course not," said Boromir. "You are human."

"That's not what I meant," I said. "Some girls are like—oh my God! It's an elf! He's so hot! I want to be an elf too! I'll party with the elves! It'll be fun! We'll have an elfish good time! And me? I'm like—no. I'm friends with a couple elves, sure. But given the choice between a forest and a, uh, whatever—I'll always pick the whatever. I like majesty. Elves don't have majesty. They're snobbish and graceful, but they're not majestic."

"You party enough to be an elf," said Pippin.

"She parties like a dwarf," said Gimli.

"I agree," said Boromir. "We have established that Ana is a manly she-dwarf."

"I think," said Sam. "I am a hobbitish hobbit. I am not an elf. And I am not a dwarf for certain. I do not think I am I man."

"You are a hobbitish hobbit," I said, nodding.

"What am I?" wondered Pippin.

"You and Merry are mannish hobbits," I said.

Boromir laughed at the shocked expressions on Merry and Pippin's faces. "They are indeed. By the end of this adventure, you two will have grown another foot and become real men."

"I think not!" cried Pippin indignantly.

"Boromir is a dwarfish man," said Merry.

"Nah," I said. "Boromir is a pretty manly man and Gimli is a dwarfish dwarf."

"Aragorn is an elfish man," said Sam. "And Frodo is also an elfish hobbit."

"Legolas?" wondered Pippin.

"He is an orcish elf," said Gimli.

"He's pretty elfish," I said. "Sorry, Gimli. As much as you want to insult Legolas—though you could think that being elfish is an insult if you want."

"Are you attempting to insult me while I am distracted?" asked Legolas, interrupting his conversation with Haldir and the others.

"A little," I said.

"We are trying to establish what races we most resemble," said Boromir. "We know Ana is a manly dwarf woman. Frodo is an elfish hobbit and Aragorn is an elfish man. Merry and Pippin are mannish hobbits. Then we said that Legolas, Gimli, Sam, and I are all the races we were meant to be."

"Oh," said Aragorn. "And the rest of us are confused?"

"I do not see the insult," said Legolas. "I am an elf."

"That is the insult," muttered Gimli.

"I should think," said Haldir. "That being a dwarf is the greatest insult of all."

"Hey!" I cried. "Dwarves are majestic…Well, except for Kili."

"Dwarves? Majestic?" Rumil scoffed. "Clearly, you have not spent enough time around dwarves."

"Clearly, you have not met Thorin Oakenshield."

"How can it be that all my conversations with you somehow concern Thorin Oakenshield?" asked Boromir.

"Because that dwarf is my idol," I said.

"Thorin Oakenshield was a stubborn dwarf," said Legolas. "Who could not look past his own gold."

I gasped. "Take that back!"

"I said it. I mean it." Legolas crossed his arms. "I will not take back the truth."

"Oh," said Gimli, leaning over to whisper to Pippin and Merry. "This is going to be good."

"Yeah?" I said. "And elves act so high and mighty but in actuality they are just as stubborn and hardheaded as dwarves."

"You—"

Legolas never got to finish what he was going to say, because Orophin silenced him with a wave of his hand. Orophin, Haldir, and Aragorn were gazing down at the forest floor. Legolas and I both peered down as well (Oh my God! It was a long way down!) and we saw that a group of goblins were running through the trees.

"They are hunting you," said Haldir.

"They will not go much further," said Orophin, taking off his bow.

The three elves quickly left the fret and, joined by their fellow elves, began hunting the goblins. Their arrows assailed the intruders and within minutes, the goblins were dead.

"As much as elves annoy me right now," I said. "I have to admit they are very effective at killing."

"We are effective at things other than that," said Legolas.

"Yeah, you are," I said, grinning. "Very effective."

Legolas frowned. "I do not understand that comment."

"Oh never mind."

* * *

**A/N: Please review? Please?**


	15. Hello Cute Neighbor

**XV: Hello Cute Neighbor**

I Skipped some time during the night. We slept in the frets, planning on heading to the heart of Lothlorien the next morning. I laid my head down and closed my eyes for a short rest, but when I woke up, I was lying down on cement, taking a nap in an empty parking space.

"She's awfully young to be homeless," someone said.

"Poor thing. Should we call the police? I don't think she's allowed to sleep there."

"Isn't that dangerous? She could get run over."

"Ew. I wouldn't want squashed homeless girl on the tires of my car!"

I sat up and brushed some dirt out of my hair. "I'm never going to get used to this."

Ignoring the people staring at me, I picked up my cellphone (somehow that thing still works) and called my Mom. She picked me up in her little green car and drove me home. It took a whole five seconds for her to start lecturing me on my random disappearances. (The first five seconds were for her to hug me and say how much she missed me.)

"You wee going to a job interview!" cried Mom. "Galin and I waited for you at dinner—nothing. We texted you, we called you—nothing. Where have you been?"

"Did you report me as missing?" I asked.

My mother paused. She glanced at me sidelong and then turned her attention back to the road. "No. We didn't think about that. You disappear too often, Ana. If we called the police every time you went missing at some point they would just keep you up on the missing persons list!"

"Good point," I said. "I just, um, got distracted on the road of life."

My mom rolled her eyes. "That is the worst excuse you've given me yet."

"Yeah." I paused. "Mom, I want to return to my apartment."

"Your apartment? Why? You don't want to stay with us? You've barely been home. You just go off on your own all the time. We do love you, Ana. We want to spend time with you. Are we so unbearable that you have to leave all the time?"

"No," I said. "I love you too. I just want to return to my apartment. It's a stage, you know?"

"Ana…"

"I'll get a job. I'll pay for part of the apartment. I just—I need to go back there."

"Ana."

"I have horrible college habits," I said. "I'm messy and slobbish and you, you don't want to live with me like that."

"Ana, you've always been messy and slobbish."

"Yeah, but it's gotten even worse since I went away to college. It's a serious problem, Mom. Like a disease, or an addiction. I don't want you to see me this way, Mom. Let me get help for my problems on my own. Then I'll come back. When I have my slobbishness under control, I'll come home—okay?"

My mom shook her head. "Ana—we're here to help you with your addiction. It's best to deal with these things surrounded by people who love you and care for you."

"No," I said. "My slobbishness is embarrassing. I'd never be able to stay in the house with you. I don't want you to see me in this state."

Mom laughed. "My poor, slobbish daughter. Alright. Your daddy can probably drive with you back to your apartment tomorrow. You'll stay the night with us, right?"

"That depends," I said. "What's for dinner?"

"Broccoli soup."

"Sorry, Mom. It's an emergency. I need to head out tonight. Right away. I can't even stay for dinner."

"I'm joking. We're having chicken casserole."

"Well…I guess it's not that important. I can stay long enough for chicken casserole. We can't let it go to waste now, can we?"

Mom rolled her eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"But that's why you love me."

* * *

I turned the radio up and returned to staring out the window. Dad kept his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the road. Neither one of us spoke. My dad had always been a man of few words, though, so that was not unusual. What was unusual was my silence. Normally, I would be prattling on about refrigerator magnets or monkeys or something random like that. But not that day. My eyes were fixed on the farmlands outside the window and my mind was fixed back in Middle Earth.

Gandalf. He could not stay dead. He should not have died. They died when they went through the Gap of Rohan. I changed that. Gandalf should not have died in Moria. I saved him.

I frowned.

If I did not save him by sending him to Moria, then I would find a different way. I would tell him not to face the balrog. I would find him in some time before the Fellowship entered Moria and I would tell him not to face the balrog. The balrog would kill him. Or, at least, I would tell him to watch out for the balrog's whip. I could save Gandalf. I would save Gandalf.

"Are you okay?"

I turned around and saw my dad watching me through the corner of his eye.

"Me?" I said. "Yeah."

"You're quiet."

"So, those refrigerator magnets Mom's got. They're pretty crazy. Did you see that one with the cow? That thing is ugly. Personally, I think a dog or a cat would have been a better choice, but—looking at the artist's style—I think he would have made even a puppy dog look ugly." I paused. "She should buy a magnet with a monkey on it. Monkeys are awesome. Did you see that one monkey at the zoo? Someone gave him a blue shirt and the monkey kept trying to put it on, but he didn't know where the head hole was and he kept pulling his head through the arm hole. It was awesome."

"Ana."

"Yeah?"

"I think I might've preferred you when you were quiet."

I laughed. "Aw, Dad. You know you love me."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I have to listen to your constant talking."

"I talk like Mom, huh?"

"Worse."

"Ouch. That's pretty bad, then. Sorry. I don't mean to. You know me—I just start talking and I never stop. It's kind of ridiculous when you think about it. Oh hey! I love this song!" I turned up the radio. "The Black Keys—amazing band. Little Black Submarine? Love it!"

"They're okay," said Dad.

"Man, you only like the classic stuff. Open your mind a little. You're as stubborn as a dwarf."

"A dwarf?" My dad glanced at me. "Where did that come from?"

"You know…Some TV show Bonnie was showing me. She likes those fantasy stuff. Not really my thing—romantic dramas all the way. I'm planning to have a _Titantic _movie night. Coffee and popcorn. Not together though. That would be gross."

"You talk too much."

"You don't talk enough. We're even like that."

My dad nodded his head, but did not respond. I turned up the radio another notch and returned to my staring out the window. Where would I Skip to next? I didn't know. I never knew. I could end up a year after Gandalf's death. I couldn't do anything to change it then. Hanging out with Thorin and Company would be best. Gandalf was usually with them.

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. We were both deep in our own thoughts. After another hour, we arrived outside my apartment. My dad helped me carry my suitcase up the five flights of stairs.

"Remember," said Dad as we waited at the bus station. "Don't do anything stupid. Stay safe. Find work. Don't miss important dates."

"I know," I said. "I'll try."

Dad smiled. "You're a good girl, Ana. Your mom and I know that."

"You just wish I weren't so irresponsible."

The bus came to a stop and opened its doors.

"No," said Dad. "We wish your life weren't so complicated."

I shook my head. "So do I, Dad. So do I."

He kissed me on the cheek and got onto the bus. I waved good-bye and waited until the bus was out of sight before I headed back to my apartment building.

You know, I'd always hated the fact that my apartment was up five flights of stairs. In case you haven't realized by now, I was not exactly in shape. Usually by the last flight of stairs I would be huffing and puffing. But, after my workouts in Middle Earth, I found the five flights of stairs easy to climb. Within no time, I was on the fifth floor—and face to face with an adorable new tenant.

"Hello?" I said.

He smiled at me. Okay. Let me make this clear. My ideal guy has short, dark hair, blue eyes, defined features, muscles, not over six foot (the height difference would be obnoxious) and a cheerful personality. This guy: Short, dark hair—check. Okay, so he had hazel eyes, I can live with that. Good facial features. Muscles were very much present. He smiled at me, so he must be cheerful. And he was under six foot. Oh my God! Shoot me with an arrow right then and there.

"Hi," he said. "I'm Jack."

"Ana. Apartment 504. Are you new here? I've never seen you here before."

"Moved in a week ago. Apartment 505."

"Ah. I'm Ana. But I said that already. Wow. That's awkward. Yeah, I was visiting my parents for awhile. That's why I haven't been here. Not that you care. Are you enjoying the apartment so far?"

Jack grinned. "Slow down there, Ana. The apartment is good. Comfy. Not too small. My last place was cramped—and I was living with a friend."

"Ah. Yeah. These are good apartments. My sophomore year in college, I had a tiny apartment—a hobbit couldn't live in there." I paused. Oops. "So I moved into a new place six months later. And here I've been ever since."

"Life story in ten seconds," said Jack, laughing.

"Oh, I think my life story takes long than ten seconds… _A lot_ longer. Three days and three nights is a conservative estimate."

"That good?"

"Definitely."

"Do I get to hear it sometime?"

"Er—Maybe."

"Alright," said Jack. "Well, let me know if you ever want to tell it to me some time. I've got to go."

"Right. Let me know if you need anything," I said. "I'm your friendly neighborhood weird girl." I blinked. "Did I really just say that?"

"I'll keep that in mind." Jack headed for the stairs.

I watched him climb the stairs and when he disappeared from sight, I did a little victory dance. Cute guy as my neighbor? Success! This is what I've been waiting for!

I unlocked my apartment and stepped inside. It had not changed since I left it over months ago. Clothes thrown everywhere. The kitchen still had a few dirty dishes. The remote was still missing. One of the chairs had been knocked over. Great.

I dragged my suitcase to my bedroom and started digging through my dresser drawers. Black jeans. A long white shirt with a belt. Brown leather jacket. Brown boots. Okay, I thought that could pass as almost regular clothing in Middle Earth. Maybe. Possibly. I kind of doubted it. Maybe I should just get clothes from Gandalf again. If I see him. Hopefully.

After getting changed, I slipped the Sword Breaker into the side of my boot. Well concealed if I do say so myself. (Don't call me stupid—you have that look on your face!) Then, I headed for the roof of my apartment building.

My apartment building has six floors and a roof. Technically, you're not allowed on the roof, but the owner will give a key to the tenants she likes and we can hang out there whenever we want. I don't know why, but Laurel was more than happy to give me a key. Only I don't usually go up there to hang out. I usually go up there to Skip.

The roof has a nice view of the city. It is right in between two sky scrapers. And from one side of the roof, you can see all the way down the main street. The left side looks on a less popular side street. The back and right sides are extremely close to other buildings and I'm afraid if I jump off those, I'll land on a dumpster or something. So, I use the left side.

I crossed the roof and stood on the railing. I looked down at the street. It was late in the day and there was a fair few people down there. Great. (Note the sarcasm.) Thankfully, no one thought to look up.

I took a deep breath.

I was doing this for Gandalf. I had to save him. I had to jump off the building—as many times as it takes—until I can find Gandalf and tell him not to fight the balrog.

Another deep breath.

Please let me Skip. Don't let me splatter on the ground. It's not going to be pretty. I want a pretty death.

And ju—

"Don't jump!"

I spun around.

Jack stood on the other side of the roof, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open.

Too late.

I fell off the roof.

And Skipped.

Well, so much for the possible romance with the cute next door neighbor.

* * *

**A/N: Awwww, look, some cute romance for An - oh wait. Never mind. **

**Please review. The RW in my name stands for Review Whore. I really like reading reviews...**

**Also. HAPPY NEW YEAR!**


	16. The Witch of Dale

**XVI: The Witch of Dale**

I opened my eyes just in time to see a house explode.

Well, that's a great way to start. I Skipped to a burning town. People were running around screaming, Children were crying. Men were fighting. Building were burning. The sky was black and the winds was blowing. Fire and smoke were everywhere. I had landed in the middle of a catastrophe.

There was a deep roar and I looked upwards to see a red dragon soaring over head. Smaug.

He breathed out and a jet of flames engulfed another building. A high pitched scream pierced the air.

Through the flames and smoke, far off in the distance, I could see the gates of Erebor. The mountain was preparing for Smaug's attack. The dwarves did not come to the aid of the men of Dale. They had their own home to protect.

"Witchcraft! Witchcraft!"

"What?" I spun around to see a fat old woman pointing at me.

"She is a sorceress! She appeared out of thin air! She is in league with the dragon!"

"Who me?" I asked. "In league with Smaug? Oh, that's rich."

"She knows the dragon's name," said a man, taking up the woman's cry. "She's a sorceress of the worst kind!"

"She has brought the dragon upon us!"

"She will be the death of us all!"

"Catch her! Kill her!"

I laughed. "Really. You all are taking this way out of proportion. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this." I looked around at the angry and desperate faces of the people of Dale. I laughed. And then I fled.

"Catch her!"

I sprinted through the streets of Dale, through the burning buildings, as fast as my short legs could carry me. The people chased after me, shouting death threats and cursing my witchcraft.

"This isn't funny!" I shouted over my shoulder. "I'm not laughing! Well—I did—but I'm not laughing anymore! Please don't kill me! I'm a good girl! Honest!"

"The witch!"

I screamed when one of them tried to stab with a pitchfork. "I'm not a witch! I don't wear all black! I can't fly! I'm afraid of heights! And I don't have a big nose with a wart on it! Look at me! Look at me! Wart free!"

"Catch her!"

"You're city's burning! Don't you have better things to do than chase me!?"

I turned the corner of an alleyway and—bam!—ran into a soldier. The man had a severe face and curling black beard. He scowled at me and when I turned to escape, he grabbed roughly me by the back of the neck. "Is this the witch?"

The townspeople had caught up. The fat woman inspected my face carefully and then nodded. "Aye. She is the witch."

"Come on!" I cried. "I'm not the stupid witch! I just got dumped her at a very bad time!"

"She even speaks like a witch," said a young woman. "In riddles and trickery."

"I'm a foreigner!" I said. "A foreigner does not mean witch. It means different. Different!"

"Do not listen to her words—she is trying to put a spell on us."

"Oh my God! Smaug is attacking your town and you're off witch hunting! This is crazy!"

"She knows the dragon's name," said the fat lady. "She must be in league with him."

"I'm not! I'm just passing through! Let me go!"

A sudden hush fell over the crowd. The people stepped to the sides, forming a pathway through the crowd. A tall, imperious looking man in finely dressed clothing strode forward.

The soldier holding me bowed his head. "Lord Girion. We have caught the witch."

"I'm not a witch!"

"Thank you, Dagar." Girion frowned. "Any captured witch would deny being a witch."

"And any non-witch captured for being a witch would deny being a witch!" I snapped. "Look, I don't want to stay here. I'll just head over to Erebor. I'm friends with Thorin."

"Thorin?"

"His granddaddy is King Under the Mountain," I said. "If you do anything to accuse me of being a witch, Thorin will bring down his granddaddy's wrath upon you and no one is going to be happy."

Girion and his people regarded me suspiciously. Dagar shook me roughly by the shoulder. "The King Under the Mountain will soon fall under Smaug's might. He has no power now."

"You are right," said Girion. "We must do what we can to save Dale and her people. Dagar. Take the witch to the highest building in Dale and tell the dragon that we will kill his ally unless he harms our town no more."

"Wait!" I cried. "What!?"

Dagar pulled me away from the crowd of people, towards one of the few buildings that had so far been untouched by Smaug's fire. I screamed and struggled against Dagar's iron grasp.

"I'm not a witch! I can't cast spells! I can't do anything! I'm pathetic! Don't kill me! Smaug hates me! Smaug has tried to kill me twice in the past! Twice! Actually—in the future—but still! Smaug hates me! No! No! Not there! Don't sacrifice me! No!"

The people of Dale would no listen to me. As Dagar pulled me to the roof of the touched building, the people booed me and cursed the witch.

"Yeah! Well!" I screamed. "I hate you too! Your city is going to burn and you people will never come back! And then I'm going to help Thorin on a quest to reclaim all the gold in Erebor and when we get the gold back—I'm not giving you a cent! And you'll be so jealous of me and I'll be like—_no_! Who was it who sacrificed me to Smaug? Huh? Huh? I'm not a witch!"

Dagar pushed me to the ground. I landed on all fours, facing the street far below the roof of the building.

"Dragon!" roared Dagar. "We have you sorceress ally captive!"

"He's not going to listen!" I wailed. "He's a friggin' dragon!"

Well, Dagar succeeded in capturing Smaug's attention. The dragon turned his massive head. His green eyes focused on us. A flap of his wings and he landed atop a burning building. He cocked his head to the side and stared at the spectacle happening on the

"I don't wanna die!" I inched towards the edge of the roof. "I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!"

"Shut up, witch," snapped Dagar. He addressed Smaug in a booming voice. "This is your ally, the sorceress. No harm will come to her as long as you listen to our demands. You must not attack Dale. You are welcome to move past Dale and attack Erebor. We will not stop you. But do not harm to Dale anymore than you have already done so."

"This is kind of embarrassing," I said. I turned to Smaug and sighed. "I have no connection to these crazy people!"

"She speaks to the dragon!" cried someone below. ":She must be in league with him!"

"Nope. Nope. No! I'm not."

"Silence! Witch!" Dagar slapped me.

I rubbed my cheek and glared at Dagar reproachfully. "Stupid man! May Thorin's majesty damn you all!"

Dagar ignored me, his attention focused on Smaug. That poor, pathetic little woman-slapping man—he had no idea what he was getting into. He actually thought Smaug had any interest in what he was saying. The dragon yawned, scratched his nose with his claw, and then let out a massive roar.

"You're doomed now," I said.

Dagar glared at me. "This is your fault, witch!"

"My fault?" I cried. "Who was it who called me a witch and climbed up on the building to threaten a dragon? I told you this was a bad idea, but noooo!"

Smaug opened his mouth.

"Suggestion," I said. "Run."

Dagar stared at me for a half a second. Then, he turned around and sprinted down the stairs of the buildings.

"Wait!" I cried. "Don't leave me here!"

I jumped up and raced down the stairs after Dagar.

Smaug let loose a jet of fire. It consumed the building. The wood caught alight and the flames glowed ever closer.

"This is not funny!" I wailed, jumping down five steps. "I wanted to stop Gandalf from dying! Not die myself! Mommy!"

I turned a corner of the staircase and slammed into Dagar's back. He has stopped running and was staring in horror at the landing in front of us. The entire floor was burning. There was no way out of the building. The orange flames cackled and crackled, taunting us to come closer.

"This is your fault!" I cried, slapping Dagar on the shoulder. "Your fault!"

"Ow! Ow! Don't hit me!"

"I just wanted to save a life, but _no_ you have to friggin' sacrifice me to a friggin' dragon! I am no a friggin' witch!"

"What are you saying?" asked Dagar. "Some kind of evil incantation!"

"Yes! I'm damning you to hell, you stupid man! You're ugly and you're fat and I don't like you very much!"

Dagar held me at arm's length. No matter how hard I tried to slap him and kick him, his one arm was strong enough to hold me far enough away that I could not touch him. See, this is why I don't like tall people. They take advantage of their height too much.

Dagar frowned. "Why would the dragon try to kill his own ally?"

"Because I'm not his ally!"

"Perhaps the dragon is more disloyal than we first thought—to betray even a sorceress."

"I'm not in league with the dragon and I'm not a sorceress! Are you listening to me at all?"

"Dagar shook his head. "Forget that now—I must escape the fires."

"Are you dense?" I asked. "Are you narrating your actions? The building is burning to the ground!"

Dagar stepped back. His eyes focused on the burning floor. It to me a second, but I realized that he was going to jump over the floor. Was that even possible? I don't know, but he was going to leave me behind in this burning building. Well—not if I could help it.

I jumped on Dagar's back, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. "Jump! Jump like your life depends on it!"

"Get off me!" roared Dagar, trying to pry me off him.

"No! Jump! Save me! I don't want to die anymore than you do!"

"Get off me!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Get off!"

"We're going to die!"

Dagar gritted his teeth, realizing he wasn't getting away from me. He drew back and then sprinted forward, leaping over the flames—over the floor—over the floor—coming down—coming down—on the flames—oh crap! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea—coming down—fire—burning—flames—going to eat me—

The floor collapsed.

We fell down onto the hard ground of the bottom floor. For a moment, the two of us lay there, groaning in pain as burning wooden floorboards set fire to the room.

Then, I leapt upright and cried, "Out! Out! Get up! I have no problems leaving you here!"

Dagar groaned and got to his feet. He drew his sword. "Do not leave me here to die, witch."

I screamed and sprinted towards the exit. Dagar leapt between the exit and me. I spun around and sprinted in the opposite direction—into the flames.

"Don't kill me!"

"Wrong way!" shouted Dagar, laughing.

I stopped—the wood was burning all around me and smoke engulfed me. I turned around and glared at Dagar. I flipped him off. "Not if you're me, jerk."

And then, I walked into the flames.

Skip.

* * *

I crouched behind a generator on the edge roof of my apartment building. The generator whirred and trembled, radiating heat. I stood up—careful of the ledge just a foot behind me. I walked around the generator and started for the stairs.

"I swear! She fell! She was standing up here—about to jump—I called out her name—and she fell!"

I stopped halfway towards the stairs. On the other side of the roof, their backs turned to me, were two police officers (one short and thin, one tall and fat), the apartment manager(Laurel—a sweet middle-aged woman), and Jack (adorable next-door neighbor). They were standing near the ledge I had jumped off of earlier, having a heated discussion.

"She jumped! I'm telling you! She jumped!"

"I don't think Ana would do something like that," said Laurel, frowning. "She's always so cheerful…"

"There's no body," said one of the cops. "There's absolutely no evidence that she jumped off the roof."

"She disappeared!" cried Jack. (Why is he so cute?)

The two cops exchanged skeptical glances.

"Young man," said one of the cops. "We don't have time to deal with these kind of calls."

"I'm not kidding," said Jack. "She jumped off the roof."

"Ana would never jump off the roof," said Laurel. "She doesn't even like heights. I had booth tickets to a really important Browns game—but they were in the nosebleed sections and Ana practically fainted at the thought."

"I did not!" I cried, stepping forward. "I just didn't want to see the Browns lose miserably…again."

"Ah!" cried Laurel. "Ana! What are you doing there?"

"I heard some noise and decided to come see what all the ruckus was about." I crossed my arms. "Do you tell people the fainting rather than go to the Browns game story all the time?"

"Maybe just a little," said Laurel sheepishly.

"That's not fair! I'm not that terrified of heights. I mean, I'm pretty terrified of heights. Especially tree climbing. Have you ever spent the night in a fret? It's friggin' ridiculous to sleep in. I'm not joking."

"What's a fret?" asked one of the cops.

"Ah…a type of tree house," I said. "That's beside the point. I had to get my friend to piggyback me up the tree because I was too scared to climb. See—tree climbing is scary. Nosebleed section at a Browns' game? Not so much."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked a cop.

"Er…" I trailed off. "What do monkeys have to do with anything? Nothing. But they're still incredibly cute."

I crossed my arms and grinned at the cop as if I had just won some great argument. He stared at me blankly.

I rolled my eyes and turned to the police officers. "Hi! I'm Ana Stonbit—I think Jack's a little confused. I did jump off the roof—but that's because I locked myself out of my apartment. I couldn't get a hold of Laurel, so I decided to try climbing down into my apartment window from the roof…" I pulled my apartment key out of my pocket. "See—it worked!"

"That's not exactly safe…" said one of the cops.

"It's okay," I said, waving away his words. "I've been in a lot more dangerous situations—um, er, it was pretty easy."

One of the cops sighed. "Well, I guess there's no need for us anymore."

"Exactly," I said. "Sorry to have wasted your time. I guess I gave Jack a little scare…"

"I'll show you out," said Laurel, ushering the two cops back down the stairs. "Would you like some coffee before you go? I just made a pot down in my office."

She closed the door behind them as they headed back into the building. I breathed a sigh of relief—until I remembered that I was now alone on the roof with Jack—the cute neighbor who thought I had committed suicide only to be told I was climbing into my apartment and he probably knows I was lying. God, this is weird.

"Hey," I said, turning to smile at him. "That was awkward, huh?"

"You jumped and disappeared," said Jack. "I saw it. You didn't climb down into your apartment. You disappeared into thin air and then you appeared back here."

"No I didn't." (Arg! I hated having to have a cutie like Jack feel stupid!)

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't"

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"_Yes_, you _did_."

We went on like that for several minutes.

* * *

**A/N: the romance is brewing. I can see it-never mind, he thinks she's a liar and she's insane. Poor Ana, her life kind of sucks. **

**Please review. Pretty please. With a cherry on top. Please? **


	17. The Magic Rock

**XVII: The Magic Rock**

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"How long are we going to carry on like this? I _know_ you disappeared. I was like magic. One moment you were there and the next, you weren't. You weren't climbing down into your apartment—I'm pretty sure your apartment doesn't even face that side of the building!"

"Yes it does!"

"No, it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does!"

"No, it doesn't—I'm not starting this again!"

"Starting what? Oh look—there's a hot guy sitting in a desk in that building. Wave at him!"

"What?" Jack looked over his shoulder.

I spun around and darted for the stairs.

"Hey!"

"What?" I asked, turning back to Jack. "I've got to go. I have a job."

"Wait! You can't leave. You haven't explained anything. Anything!" Jack stepped forward and reached out to grab my arm.

I pulled my arm away and smiled. "I told you. I had to get my key out of my apartment."

"Bullshit."

"Did you just bullshit me?"

Jack crossed his arms and scowled at me. "Yes, yes, I did. And what are you going to do about it?"

"Me? Me! What am I going to do about it!? I'm going to walk away. Right. Now."

I spun around and strode across the roof. I threw open the door to the stairs, glanced over my shoulder to glare at Jack, stepped down the stairs, and slammed the door behind me.

I collapsed in the stairwell and took a deep breath. Man, why do I have to keep ruining my chances with my cute neighbor? I want to flirt with him—not insult him over and over again and make him seem like he's crazy! Bad, Ana! Bad! You need to work on your boy skills!

Still feeling pretty miserable, I headed down to my apartment and made myself a chai latte. I sat down on the couch and decided to ponder my next move.

I had not run into Gandalf, which meant that as things currently stood, Gandalf was still dead. I would have to Skip again. But when? Now? Jack was probably still on the roof, keeping a look out for me. Under normal circumstances, I would give anything to have a cute guy on the look out for me—but no! Not today! I had important lives to save!

I sipped my latte. How to deal with this? I could find another way to Skip. Cars and trucks were always useful. Or maybe jumping off a bridge. I had never tried that one before. They could be some interesting ways to Skip. Drowning. Guillotine. Gun point (though I don't really fancy that one). Those would be interesting. Or I could try jumping into a lion's den at the zoo. Oh, I'd be Skipping out of there _real_ fast. Or maybe something with monkeys. It'd be fun to Skip with monkeys. Do they have monkeys in Middle Earth? It'd be a sad thing if they didn't.

Okay, I was getting off topic. Monkeys have nothing to do with Skipping.

That I know of.

They could secretly be behind the whole thing.

No. I was off topic. Gandalf. Skip. Stop him from dying. Focus.

I finished my latte and headed for the kitchen. I dropped the dirty mug in the sink and sighed.

I would have to go jump off the roof again. It had been half an hour. Jack had to be pretty desperate (and pretty obsessed with me) to wait up there for half an hour. I made sure I still had the Sword Breaker in my boot and then I headed back up to the roof. No sign of Jack. Good. (Though it would be nice to see his pretty face before I jumped off a building).

I headed for the ledge. I perched there for a second. I could see the street below. The people walking around. Way down there. Way, way down.

Man, I really don't like heights.

I jumped. And Skipped.

I landed in a tree. My arms and legs wrapped around the branch and I clung on for dear life. The branch was smooth without many hand holds. But it was thick, thick enough that I could easily stand up and walk across it without fear of falling.

I opened my eyes, however, and saw that the forest floor was a long, long, long way down.

Was the Skipping _trying_ to kill me?

"Intruder! Intruder! There is a human in Lothlorien!"

I glanced along the tree branch and saw several elves walking along the tree branch towards me, their bows were drawn and aimed right at me.

"Don't just stand there and point your weapons at me!" I cried. "Help!"

"Why should we help intruders?" asked one of the elves suspiciously.

"I'm not an intruder! I don't have a choice in coming here! Look! I'm friends with Thorin!"

No response.

"Oh wait. He's a dwarf. That's not going to help me. Okay. I'm friends with Elladan and Elrohir!"

Still coming.

"I'm friends with Aragorn! I'm friends with Legolas! I'm friends with Frodo! I'm friends with Elrond! Come on! You have to know _him_!"

One of the elves grabbed me by the back of my shirt and lifted me into the air. I never knew elves were so friggin' strong until one was holding me in the air with on hand while my legs dangled beneath me, a good six inches off the ground.

"This isn't funny!" I cried.

The elves carried me back across the trees branch and along the series of frets. They seemed to be moving towards the center of the forest where the frets were built closer together and higher in the trees. I closed my eyes and refused to look down—well aware that the elf could easily drop me and it would be good-bye Ana.

"You know, you don't really have to do this," I said. "You could just gently put me down on the forest floor and let me go find Gandalf…"

"Gandalf?" One of the elves glanced at me suspiciously. "You know Gandalf?"

"Oh, sure," I said, rolling my eyes. "That name gets your attention!"

"How do you know Gandalf?" The elf set me down on the platform.

"Oh, you know, we're tight." I laughed. "Gandalf and I are BFFs. We tell each other all our secrets. I am _deep_ in Gandalf's council."

"No, you are not."

I glanced up and saw the wizard standing on the fret.

He was right there. Right in front of me. Whole and very much alive. He looked the exact same as before—well, almost. He was clad entirely in white now. He was no longer a scruffy old man in gray rags. He had cleaned up. His beard was white, his clothes were white—he looked _good_.

"Gandalf!" I cried. "Gandalf! You're alive! Of course, you're alive and white! Hwy are you white? Where am I? What time is it? Gandalf you died!"

"I know," said Gandalf, leaning on his new white staff. "I died two days ago after I slew the balrog."

"Oh." I paused. "Well, you've been busy. I've just been, you know, running away from dragons and crazy Dale soldiers and police officers and cute guys while trying to save your life. No big deal or anything."

"I returned to this world," said Gandalf, continuing as if I had no spoken. "Until my task is done. I am now Gandalf the White—Saruman as he should have been."

"And you came to Lothlorien? The Fellowship was here," I said, looking over my shoulder.

"They departed yesterday," said Gandalf. "Gwaihir, the Lord of the Eagles, bore me here after he found me on the peak of Celebdil."

"Ambulance eagles to the rescue," I said, nodding. "They're handy things, they are."

"You have not changed a bit," said Gandalf.

"Why thank you," I said, beaming at him.

"That was not a compliment."

"And death has not changed you at all," I said. "It _is_ nice to know that you do not stay dead. I really was running around trying to save your life."

Gandalf raised his brushy eyebrows and regarded me appraisingly. "If you say so."

"What? I really did try and save you! I jumped off a building—twice! Twice!"

"Of course you did."

"Gandalf! That isn't funny! I'm being serious!"

Gandalf nodded. "Did I disagree with you?"

"This is called bullying! Bullying!"

He did not respond, but only motioned for me to follow him. Confused, I did what he asked. The elves followed us as he led me along the frets—continuing in the same direction that the elves had been taking me.

"So," I said. "Did you really come back to life?"

"Yes."

"So, are you a zombie?"

Gandalf frowned. "I am afraid the word zombie is not known to me."

"A zombie is someone who died and then their corpse comes back to life. But it isn't the same person and the zombies walk around with their arms stretched out in front of them and searching for brains." I demonstrated the proper zombie walk for Gandalf. "_Brains…Brains…_"

Gandalf stared at me.

"Okay," I said. "Not a zombie then. A vampire?"

"Do I want to know what a vampire is?"

"They're these undead beings. They're immortal except they're vulnerable to stakes, wood, daylight, they can't cross moving water, and they can't enter a house without permission." I paused. "If you list out their drawbacks they're kind of pathetic. But anyway, vampires bite people on the necks and drink their blood. Then the people die and become vampires themselves."

"I have no desire to drink your blood," said Gandalf.

"Then you're not a vampire. That's good to know. Vampires are kind of gross. What is they get HIV drinking people's blood."

"I will not ask what HIV is," said Gandalf. "Do not tell me. I do not want to know."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Because HIV is a se—"

"Oh look," said Gandalf. "We are here."

And so we were. The frets led to a huge platform suspended between several trees. A long white staircase led down to the platform. It was a gorgeous place. The trees were golden, their leaves eternally filled with life and the tree trunks were like silver. The platform was decorated with intricate designs that resembled plants and vines. A solitary figure stood at the far end of the platform. A female elf dressed entirely in white. Her long, golden hair fell down her back. She turned as we approached and—_God_, she was beautiful. I felt like a fat toad in comparison to her.

"This is the Lady Galadriel," said Gandalf. "The Lady of Lothlorien."

"Oh." I turned to her and waved awkwardly. "Hi."

Gandalf sighed. "Her manners are not her strong point," he said to Galadriel.

Galadriel laughed lightly. "Welcome, _Senturiel_, to Lothlorien."

"Okay, okay, okay, okay!" I said, raising my hands into the air. "Hold the phone."

A slight frown crossed Galadriel's face and she turned to Gandalf. "Hold the phone? I do not understand this expression."

"As is the case with many of her expressions," said Gandalf. "Mostly we will nod out heads and pretend we understand her."

"Stop," I said. "It means stop. What does _Senturiel_ mean? Everyone keeps calling me _Senturiel_ and no one will explain what _Senturiel_ is? Are you making fun of me?"

Galadriel smiled. (God damn it, why is she so graceful and beautiful? It's just not fair!) "The _Senturiel_ was a gift, given to the men of Numenor by the Valar. It was a stone of unending power that allowed the user to see the past and the future and worlds beyond. Atanalcar son of Elros was the first man to use the _Senturiel_. He was consumed by it, driven mad by the knowledge of fate itself. People said he moved throughout time without ever remaining in one place. He would come and go not as he pleased, but at the wish of the _Senturiel. _But the _Senturiel _was used at a terrible cost; Atanalcar lost all sense of reality. In the end, he did not recognize his own kin. He faded into a shadow, fearing the power of the _Senturiel_. He spent his last days, screaming that it would take him away. Far away."

"After his death, the stonewas sealed away in a safe, secret place. The Dunedain long protected the secret of the _Senturiel_. They dared not use it. They dared not touch it. They kept it hidden from the world, fearing that it would destroy the world as we know it. But nothing can remain hidden. The _Senturiel_ was discovered in the Second Age. Sauron came to power and rumor of the _Senturiel _reached his ears. He sought out the _Senturiel._ But he did not succeed. The Dunedain did not want the powers of the _Senturiel_ to be misused, so brought the stone to Lothlorien for safekeeping. But it never reached Lothlorien. On the road, the stone was stolen. It has disappeared from Middle Earth. Whoever stole the _Senturiel_ has not used it. The stone remains forgotten, faded out of history and time."

Galadriel smiled at me. "But now you have appeared. You who come and go and speak of worlds beyond our knowledge. In the minds of men and dwarves, the _Senturiel_ has been forgotten. But in the minds of the elves, it is a memory ever vibrant. The similarities are too close to be coincidence. There is meaning behind your appearance in there troubled times. You were meant to come to Middle Earth at this time. There is more to this than meets the eye. You are not the _Senturiel, _but the _Senturiel _is you."

I stared at Galadriel. And stared. And stared. And stared.

"So, basically you're saying I am the equivalent of a magic rock?"

Gandalf sighed. "Ana. The _Senturiel_ is a gift given to the Numenoreans by the Valar. It is a sacred and powerful object."

"Yeah, but it's a rock."

"Given to the by the _Valar_."

"I don't even know who the Valar are, so that doesn't really mean anything to me." I rolled my eyes. "No girl is going to be flattered by being called a rock. A magical rock, yes, but still a _rock_."

"The Valar are the powerful spirits who created the world," said Gandalf.

"Still a rock," I muttered.

"Ana," said Gandalf. "You have an inability to appreciate history."

"I'm sorry," I said. "But no matter how much history you put behind a rock—it is _still_ a rock. Now, if it was a rock of gold, I might be a little more flattered." I looked at Galadriel hopefully.

"There are no records of what the stone looks like," said Galadriel. "Only that it is a stone."

"Great," I muttered. "You know, this whole _Senturiel_ thing sounds like a huge burden. I'm not really the responsibility type. You should talk to my parents. I can't hold a job for more than a couple months—if I'm lucky. I can't keep dates. I can't even keep track of my own life. I don't need this whole—driven mad, faded out of reality thing to weigh down on my shoulders."

"The responsibility is already yours," said Galadriel, stepping closer to me. "We know not how you came by the powers of the _Senturiel_, but its powers are yours. Already the burdens of the _Senturiel_ weigh down upon your shoulders.'

"No, they don't," I said. I wiggled my shoulders. "See, they're as light as a feather. Nothing weighting them down. Free as a bird. See?"

"Your ability to deny the obvious is exceptional," said Gandalf.

"It's true," I said. "I'm extremely good at pretending bad things don't exist. Like when you died. I totally sidetracked myself and Legolas by rambling on about the _Titantic_. Have you see the _Titantic_? Great movie. You should see it if you haven't already. You probably haven't. You don't look like a romantic tragedy type. More like a romantic comedy type. But you should rent it at Blockbuster. Oh, and speaking of romantic comedies, you should watch _28 Days_. The one with Sandra Bullock and Viggo Mortensen. Best romantic comedy ever. Just saying."

"Poor child," said Galadriel, taking another step closer. "Already the _Senturiel_ finds her mind fading from reality."

"What? Where did this come from? I'm totally normal! Just because you guys have bad taste in movies—it doesn't mean _I'm_ crazy!"

Galadriel reached out a hand to touch my face. I tried to back away, but one of the elves held me in place. Her hand drew closer and closer and then—Skip.

* * *

**A/N: Review? Because you're nice people who appreciate the time I put into this? Please...**


	18. I Got A Datey Date

**XVIII: I Get A Datey Date**

"Alright. I _know_ you teleported this time. I saw you jump off the building and then fifteen minutes later you appeared back on the roof."

I turned around and saw Jack standing on the other side of the roof. His arms were crossed and he had a stubborn set about his jaw and mouth. I sighed. Cute guys would be the death of me.

"I don't suppose I can say that I locked myself out of my apartment again?"

"No."

I glanced at the door to the stairwell, longing for an escape. But Jack stepped in between me and the stairs.

"You're not getting out of this," said Jack.

I sighed. "Out of what? Telling you? I can just not tell you. I can stand here and refuse to tell you 'til the cows come home. We'll stand here and glare at each other until I disappear again and you wait for me to come back again. But that could be weeks—even months. Then I'll appear back here, we'll glare at each other for a long time and then I'll disappear again. This can go on and on and on. I will get fed and I'll sleep. You, however, will never be able to move from this spot—even to go to the bathroom. Because the moment you leave that spot, I will come back here. So, you can glare at me until I tell you, but this, Jack, is a competition I will win."

"So, you admit it then," said Jack.

"Admit what?"

"That you can teleport!"

I groaned. "Damn it all. I don't teleport. I just—never mind. I don't want to tell you."

"Tell me!"

I sighed and shook my head. "What do you _think_ I am?"

Jack frowned. Apparently this had not really occurred to him yet. We stood there awkwardly while he thought of a response. Also—have I ever told you how cute Jack is? Even when he's pondering a stupid question and will most likely come up with a stupid answer—he's still really cute. Just look at that pouting lip! Adorable! Can I have one?

Jack lifted his head and stared directly at me. "You're a witch, aren't you?"

I swear to you, I practically fell over right then and there.

"Not the witch thing again!" I cried. "Been there done that. It ends with burning buildings and a crazy soldier pointing his sword at me. I _am_ not a witch. If you get an angry mob with pitchforks, I _will_ set Thorin's majesty on you. Try again."

"Burning buildings and a crazy soldier?" wondered Jack.

"Yeah. That's my life. Deal with it."

"Are you like some sort of medieval woman come to the future?"

I stared at him for a second. Then, I burst out laughing. "Me? Medieval? Oh hell no! I'm as modern as they come. I live of Starbucks coffee."

Jack stopped to consider this. "So you're not a demon or an angel?"

"A-a-angel?" My sides were splitting as I guffawed. "Oh my God! I can see it! Hey guys, guess who has wings! I'm divine—you got that? And then I take off in the air with my amazing wings and have meltdown because it's too high." I laughed even harder. "Or, or, or me as a _demon_. I'd be the most pathetic demon ever. I'd try to tempt someone into sin and fail miserably so that they became the most pious person ever." My ribs hurt. "This is fun. Do it again, do it again!"

Jack frowned. "I'm being serious here."

"I know! That's why it's so funny!"

"What _are_ you?"

"Nuh-uh," I said. "You have to guess it."

"I'm out of guesses."

"Too bad then," I said. "Because I'm not telling you nothing. Come up with new guesses and we'll try again some other time."

"Tomorrow!" said Jack. "You're not going to keep this secret for long. We'll get coffee and I'll figure out what you are."

"Tomorrow?" I shook my head. "Don't make plans. I never keep dates."

"It isn't a date," said Jack.

I blinked. When I said date I meant arranged times of meeting—but hey, if Jack heard romantic date—who am I to complain?

"It's a date and you know it," I said. "I guess I can try to meet you for coffee tomorrow. What time is good for you?"

"It's not a date!" cried Jack. "But I'll stop by your apartment tomorrow morning around ten."

"Alright then," I said, stepping past him and heading for the stairwell. "It's a date!"

I heard Jack yell "It's not date!" before I closed the door to the stairwell firmly behind me. A huge grin spread across my face and I skipped (the actual action of skipping, not jumping worlds) down the stairs to my apartment. I, Ana Stonbit, had a date. A real date…

"I have a date. I have a date. I have a date, a date, a date. I have a datey date. I have a date. I have a date. I have a date, date, date, date, datey. Oh don't you wish you have a date, date, date, date, date, datey. Oh don't you wish you have a date, date, date, date, date, datey. But you don't have a date. But you don't have a date. But you don't have a date. But I have a date, a date, a date, a date date. A super awesome date, date, date, date date. With a super cute, cute, cute, cute, cute guy. A super cute, cute, cute, cute, cute guy. Oh don't you wish you have a super cute, cute, cute, cute, cute, cute guy. But you don't even have a date, date, date, date, datey date. Guess who does? Me, me, me, me, me, me, me, meey me."

Okay, being me, a date is a big deal. It's kind of hard to maintain a relationship when you accidentally Skip to another world every other week. My dating history contains a whole two guys. The first guy—Stew—was in high school. We dated for a friggin' week before he said we should break up because I never answered his text messages. Well, yeah, it's kind of hard to answer text messages while you're running away from giant white oxen in Gondor! So, yeah, my first relationship was such a disaster that it couldn't even be called a relationship. My second relationship was in my freshman year of college. That one lasted a record month and a half. Then Jason broke up with me because "I was never there" for him. That kind of happens when I Skip around!

In short, my dating history is a disaster. So the fact that I actually had a date with this adorable next door neighbor (don't remind me that he refuses to cal it a date) is an amazing thing.

And, yes, I really sang that "I have a date" song in my apartment. It never occurred to me that Jack lived in the apartment next to mine and heard that whole song… Yeah. Let's never talk about that again.

Now, all I had to do was _not_ Skip to Middle Earth in the next two days and I was good. I could do that, right? Right?

Wrong.

I got to my apartment and fixed myself dinner (microwave macaroni and cheese for the win!) Then, I got a shower and changed into my pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and boxers. Just when I was getting into bed for a good night's sleep—Skip.

Oh my God, that has to be the second most awkward Skip in my life. (The first being my Skip while showering to Rohan.) You have to remember, I was in my pajamas. Oversized t-shirt, no bra, and boxers. And I'm going to Middle Earth. Where women wearing pants are considered scandalous.

This was bound to end in disaster.

I went from sitting on my bed to sitting on top of a dwarf's fat, squishy stomach.

"Arg!"

"Ow!"

"Bombur! Get off me!"

"I cannot!"

"Where are we?"

"Ana! What are you doing here?" cried Bofur. "And what are you _wearing_?"

I looked down and saw that I was sitting on Bombur's stomach. In a huge heap beneath him were all the dwarves of Thorin's Company and poor Bilbo. They were trapped in a sort of cage thing with an open roof that was located directly beneath a sort of tunnel. We were inside a mountain. The cavern was lit with glowing orange torches, revealing a vast array of wooden bridges and wooden huts.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Inside the Misty Mountains," said Balin.

"That is not important!" cried Bofur. "Ana! Why are you _dressed_ like that?"

"I was getting ready for bed!"

"You sleep in _that_?" asked Bombur.

"Do you not get cold?" asked Ori.

"It is kind of creepy," said Nori.

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate the compliments."

"But you are not _wearing _anything," said Nori.

"Yes, I am. It's called pajamas! Pajamas! I was going to go to sleep! I can't be here! I have a date tomorrow! Do you know how friggin' hard it is for me to get a date? With an actual guy! Do you?"

"Well," said Bofur. "I wouldn't call you high in the market..."

"I am impressed you managed to get a man to look at you twice," said Thorin. "Now get off of us."

"Hey!" I cried. "Just for that comment, I'm staying right here."

A series of loud protests rose from the dwarves. I'm pretty sure I was cursed out in some very colorful dwarvish.

"Your mother was a hairless rat!" roared Oin.

"Your father was a fat pig!" added Gloin.

"You are about as good-looking as an orc!" said Dori.

"You are descended from orcs!" said Nori.

"Not listening," I said, crossing my arms. "Not listening to a word you say until Thorin apologizes."

"You are the undigested swill of a pig's gullet!" shouted Dwalin.

I laughed. "Though that insult was very good."

"You are a limp-wristed, soggy-headed, crag-faced, ugly-looking, pansy-waisted, blunt-nosed, hammer-dropping, milk-swilling, elf-chasing, broke-legged, dirt-chewing, brainless, gutless, spineless, goldless, axeless, brewless, pipeless, shoeless, clothesless, cannot-read-a-map-to-save-her-life, stupid girl who does not even have a beard!" shouted Dwalin.

"Nicely done," I said. "But I'm still not moving."

"Get off!" shouted Fili. "You are _heavy_! Have you gained weight since I last saw you!?"

I froze. Slowly, I turned to glare down at Fili, his head exposed under Balin's white beard.

"What do you just say?" I asked, my voice low and deep. "Did you just call me fat?"

"It is working!" cried Ori.

I leaped off Bombur's stomach and sprinted down the pile of dwarves to where Fili lay. I tried to kick him, but I tripped and fell on top of him instead.

"Don't ever call a woman fat!" I screamed, trying to hit him in the stomach.

"Someone hold her back!" cried Kili.

Even though Thorin dragged me off Fili, I was still swinging my legs about, trying to kick Fili.

"I'm not fat! I'm not fat! I'm just out of shape!"

"Whew," said Fili, rubbing his stomach. "That was a close one!"

"Did it hurt?" asked Kili.

"No," said Fili. "She is kind of weak."

"Thorin!" I wailed. "Let me go! If I don't punish him, he's just going to call me fat again!"

Thorin whacked me over the head. "Calm down."

He froze. His eyes grew wider, fixed on something beyond the cage.

I turned around and saw that along a stone pathway a large group of grotesque goblins waddled up to the cage. They leered at us, grinning and showing their crooked, pointy teeth. They hissed something in their foul language and one of the goblins opened the door to our cage. The goblins grabbed the dwarves, Bilbo, and me one by one and forced us along the stone pathway. The dwarves fought as hard as they could as the goblins pushed them along. Ori very nearly took a goblin's eye out and Oin kept trying to throttle them. I was kind of incapable of fighting, so I just curled myself up as best I could and walked whatever way the goblins pushed me.

"They're so ugly!" I wailed.

"That is the least of our concerns right now!" shouted Thorin.

One of the goblins prodded me in the side, his sharp fingernail jobbing deep. I screamed and clung onto Dwalin.

"I don't like this!" I cried. "I don't like this at all!"

"Yes," muttered Thorin as he punched one goblin in the face. "Because we enjoy being captured by goblins so much."

"I detect sarcasm!"

"Good to know you are not a complete halfwit."

"Hurry up," grunted one of the goblins, pushing me forward.

I kept a firm grip on Dwalin and ended up dragging him forward with me. We almost tripped and fell off the edge of the stone pathway down into the depths of the cavern. Dwalin managed to remain upright and then pried me off of him.

"Get off me!" said Kili, trying to push away the goblins as they took his bow and arrows.

The goblins took all our weapons. Except for mine. I didn't have a weapon. The Sword Breaker was at home, lying on my bedside table.

"Don't eat me," I said, eyeing one particularly deformed goblin. "I don't taste very good. You can eat the dwarves though. A troll once told me they were delicious."

Dwalin rolled his eyes. "You still sing the same tune. It did not work the first time, why would it work the second time?"

"We don't like the beards," said one of the goblins. "Dwarves are all hairy. The strands get stuck between the teeth."

"That is a very serious problem," said Fili.

"Perhaps you could use their hair as dental floss," I said. "God knows you need it." I paused and then added, "Or you could eat Kili instead of me. He doesn't have a beard."

"Hey!" cried Kili, elbowing a goblin. "I have more of a beard then you!"

"That's not saying much!"

"Hairless rat," grunted Dwalin.

"Exactly!" I cried, jumping out of reach of a snickering goblin. "And he's sexy. Would you rather eat little ol' skin and bones me—or that sexy, hunky of a dwarf over there."

"Oi!" cried Kili. "I do not taste good! I taste like gravel! Like gravel!"

"No, you don't!" I said. "You taste like yummy, yummy…" I paused and turned to the goblin nearest to me. "What do goblins like to eat?"

The goblins shoved me away and I slammed into the shoulder of another goblin, knocking him off the pathway. The goblin tumbled into the black abyss below, disappearing from sight.

I shrieked and leapt backwards. The goblins around me hissed and jeered angrily. I slunk back to Dwalin's side, clinging to his back in the hopes that the dwarf would protect me… He did no such thing. He picked me up by the back of the shirt and offered me to the goblins.

"Eat her if you wish," said Dwalin.

"Hey!" I cried. "What kind of friend are you?"

"Friends?" asked Dwalin, pretending to be clueless. "You show up and force us to take you along."

"Like I would willingly come with you to goblin town!"

"You are so bizarre that I would no be surprised if that were true," said Dwalin.

"It's not true! It's not true! Dwalin! Don't hand me over to the goblins! Don't hand me over to the goblins!"

"Shut up!" The goblins shoved me forward. "If we are going to eat anyone, we are going to eat you."

My face paled and I clung to Dwalin's arm. "But I don't taste good!"

"Yes, she does," said Kili. "She tastes very good. She's human. Human flesh is very good."

"I'm not human!" I shrieked, trying to move away from the goblins who looked at me with hungry eyes. "I'm a dwarf! A dwarf! Look how short I am! I'm definitely a dwarf!"

"You do not resemble a dwarf in the slightest!" cried Gloin.

"Work with her here!" I hissed. "I'm short! Short! Short! Short! Do you know any humans this short? No! I didn't think so!"

One of the goblin's snapped his teeth near my hand, trying to bite off a few fingers. I screamed and jumped onto Bifur's back. "Save me!"

The dwarf grunted something in dwarfish. Someone grabbed me roughly by the back of the shirt and peeled me off Bifor's back. I stumbled to the ground and found myself facing an extremely annoyed Thorin.

"We are in a strange place surrounded by unfriendly goblins," said Thorin. "Try to be someone tolerable."

I nodded. "Yes, your majesty."

Thorin sighed. "Why do I put up with you?"

"Because I have so much majestic potential?"

Despite being surrounded by goblins, despite being pushed down a stone pathway that dropped down into a black pit on either side, despite being taken somewhere we did not know, and despite the possibility of being eaten, Thorin laughed.

"You? Majestic?" He smirked. "Only in your dreams."

* * *

**A/N: Please review. I'm in Starbucks and I'm tired and it would be nice if you reviewed...**


	19. The Great Escape

**XIX: The Great Escape**

The goblins—snickering and shouting—pushed us along the stone pathway. We entered the center of goblin town where the goblin king's throne was located on top of a rock formation, jutting up in the middle of the cavern. The goblins pushed us onto the platform, tossing our weapons down before the king. We stood together (or the dwarves stood together, I cowered behind Dwalin), facing the king.

The goblin king was one of the most hideous things I have ever seen. I know I said that the goblins were ugly, but that was before I saw their king. Covered in warts, he was a huge, hulking fellow with a bulging stomach and squinty eyes. He sat on a throne made of bones, a deformed little crown on his fat head. At first, I thought he had a beard, but upon further inspection, I realized it was just flab hanging down from his chest, swaying madly whenever he moved his head.

"Well, well, well," said the goblin king. "What do we have here?"

"Dwarves, your malevolence," said one of the short, thin goblins.

I glanced around. Bilbo and I were most certainly not dwarves. I was hiding behind Dwalin, but Bilbo was obviously not a dwarf. But Bilbo did not seem to be with the Company. Had we lost him on the stone pathway?

"Dwarves!" The goblin king laughed—a gravelly, wretched sound. "Dwarves! Dwarves!" He leaned forward and peered at the Company. "And what might dwarves be doing, crossing my mountain?"

The Company did not speak. Each dwarf stared at the goblin king with firm set, stubborn eyes. They did no utter a single word. Silence. Nothing.

"Very well," said the goblin king. He turned to his fellow goblins and let out a deep cackle. "If they will not talk, we will make them squawk! Bring out the Bone Breaker!"

A roar rose up amongst the goblins watching. Apparently they liked the Bone Breaker quiet a bit.

"We will start with the female," said the goblin king, pointing at Dwalin.

"Dwalin," I said, giggling as a cowered behind him. "He just called you a female."

Dwalin grunted. "He was pointing at you."

"Me?" I squeaked.

The goblins snickered and prodded me with their sharp fingernails.

"Wait!" I cried. "I don't know anything! I don't know! I'm just passing through! It'd be much better to torture Kili! Really! Torture Kili!"

"Why is it always me?" asked Kili.

The dwarf king snickered and leaned back in his throne. "You know, I have never seen a female dwarf before. I did not expect them to be as ugly as you."

"Why does everyone in this place call me ugly!?" I wailed. "I'm not _that_ bad looking!"

Dwalin coughed.

"Hey!"

The goblins jeered and prodded me, pushing me past Dwalin and to the front of the group. I stood there awkwardly, dressed in only boxers and a t-shirt. The goblin king leered at me, showing all of his crooked, yellow teeth.

"I don't like this Bone Breaker," I said. "Could we just, you know, sit down and talk. Maybe have some coffee and cookies. I can make a real great batch of chocolate chip cookies. You should try them. You'll realize that this whole eating human flesh thing is just a phase and your true love is chocolate chip cookies. Because, you know, my cooking skills are just that amazing."

The goblin king frowned. "I do not understand her words."

"No one does," said Fili quickly.

"Are you mocking me?" asked the goblin king, leaning forward.

"Me? Mocking you? No! No, no, no, no! How could I mock such a splendid creature of such magnificence. I mean, I mean just _look_ at those warts—those are some amazing warts. I have never seen such beautiful warts in all my life. And that flabby piece of skin—incredible. How did you get that? You should tell me and I'll try and get one myself."

The goblin king smiled and scratch his flab. "I am naturally this way."

"Really?" I cried eagerly. "So lucky! My genetics only made me short, but you—you get to be, to be, to be a great, handsome goblin king. So jealous. Am I right?" I glanced around at the other dwarves for support. They all stared at me, the word 'no' plastered in the gaze. I turned back to the goblin king and smiled. "They agree."

"Oh stop, stop," said the goblin king. "You flatter too much."

"It's nothing," I said. "I'm only speaking the truth."

"Since you have such refined taste," said the goblin king, smiling at me. (Oh God, he was ugly). "I will show you a little treat." He turned to his secretary. "Bring out the jester."

"The jester?" I asked.

The goblin's scurried away.

I glanced at the dwarves behind me. "Jester?"

They shrugged.

The goblin's returned, holding a massive, iron cage on their shoulders. They placed it down on the ground beside the king and I got a good view of what was inside. A thin young man stood behind the bars. He had messy light brown hair and an awkward too-tall-for my weight frame. His arms were crossed and he had a permanent scowl fixed on his face.

"Nick!" I cried.

The guy looked up and caught sight of me. A huge grin spread across his face and he leaned forward, resting his face against the cage bars. "Hey! What's up Ana? I see you landed in this crazy place too."

"You _know_ him?" asked Gloin.

"He's my friend," I said. "I, um, accidentally brought him here." I glanced at Thorin and he nodded once. Apparently he remembered my ridiculously long explanation. The funny thing is, Thorin refused to help me find my friends, but then he's the one who brought me here. Great job, Thorin! A plus.

"You brought me here?" asked Nick.

I laughed. "Yeah, there are probably better times to explain that right now."

"You know the jester?" asked the goblin king, frowning at me.

"Yeah," I said. "He's an old friend. A little bit of a nancy boy, but he's a good guy. Why is he your jester?"

The goblin king guffawed. He turned to Nick and grinned. "Make us laugh, Jester, make up laugh."

Nick rolled his eyes and turned to me. "You just had to ask."

"We are not laughing yet, Jester," said the goblin king impatiently.

Nick sighed. "Knock, knock."

The goblin king was already laughing. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange who?"

"Knock, knock."

The goblin king frowned. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange who?"

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" The goblin king was growing more and more impatient.

"Orange."

"Orange who?"

"Knock, knock."

"Tell me who's there or I'll cut off your head!" roared the goblin king.

"Banana."

"Banana who?"

"Orange you glad I didn't say banana?"

The goblin king stared at Nick for a good, long minute. Then he doubled over and let out a booming laugh. The goblin king all but fell out of his throne, he was laughing so hard. He pounded his fist on the throne. He laughed so much that all his flab jiggled.

I glanced at the dwarves. They weren't laughing either.

The goblin king seemed to notice this, because he suddenly stopped guffawing. He glared at us and said, in a flat, deadpan tone, "Why aren't you laughing?"

Pause.

We all fell over ourselves with shrieks of fake laugher.

"Oh my God!" I cried. "That's hilarious!"

"Please stop! Please stop!" cried Fili, clutching his sides. "I cannot take it anymore."

"Another one! Another one!" cried the goblin king.

Nick sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Let me think. Um. What do you call a man with two wooden legs and no left eye who gets into a fight with a cat?"

The goblin king clapped his hands. "I do not know! Tell me!"

"Claude."

The goblin king fell over himself laughing. The dwarves and I tried to make ourselves laugh. It was kind of pathetic. The laughter was scattered and incredible forced. But, apparently, the goblin king thought it was funny.

"Again! Again!"

Nick glanced at me a wriggled his eyebrows. "Why was the mushroom always happy?"

"I do not know!" cried the goblin king. "Tell us! Tell us!"

"He was a fungi."

While the goblin king roared with laughter, Ori leaned over and whispered to me, "I hate to say this, but your friend is not very funny."

"I got this, I got this," I said, stepping forward. "What did one plate say to the other?"

"Tell me!" cried the goblin king.

"Lunch is on me."

The goblin king and I both doubled over with laughter.

"Why did the cook get arrested?" I asked.

"Why?" The goblin king grinned at me, eagerly anticipating the answer. "Why?"

"Because he beat an egg!"

We both clutched our sides and guffawed at the joke. The dwarves gave half-hearted laughter. I don't know why. My jokes were ten times more awesome than Nick's.

"I got another one," I said. "Why was the orc a messy eater?"

"I do not know," said the goblin king eagerly. "Why?"

"Because he's always a goblin," I cried. I laughed. "Get it? Goblin—gobbling? It's a pun!" I laughed even harder. "And goblin's eat a lot… It's funny!"

I swear—you could have heard a pin drop in goblin town. I was the only one laughing. The goblins all stared at me with stony faces. I pretty sure Thorin rolled his eyes at my back.

"You, um, don't think it's funny?" I asked meekly.

The goblin king stared at me for a second. Then he turned to one of his assistant goblins and said, "Bring up the Bone Breaker."

"What?" I cried. "Why? Is that really necessary?"

"This is your own fault," said Thorin.

"I kind of agree with him," said Nick.

"You're not supposed to agree!" I screamed.

The Bone Breaker arrived soon enough. And let me tell you, it is a machine of pure evil. It had spikes and straps and I'm pretty sure you were tied to a board and stretched out until all your bones snapped. I'm not entirely sure how it worked. But it sure _look_ scary.

"I think chocolate chip cookies are the best solution," I said.

"Tie her up," roared the goblin king.

I screamed as several goblins grabbed my arms and legs and dragged me towards the Bone Breaker. Oh my God! I didn't want to die that way. Not that way! Not that way! I screamed and thrashed about, but, of course, I was no match for goblins.

"Wait."

The goblins paused and turned to see who had spoken. Thorin stepped to the front of the group of dwarves. He glared at the goblin king and the goblin king smiled back at Thorin.

"As much as she deserves the Bone Breaker," said Thorin. "I cannot allow my dog to be tortured to death."

"Dog?" asked Nick.

"Shut up!" I said. "You're interrupting his majestic rescue!"

The goblin king ignored us. A wide grin spread across his grotesque face. "Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, and King Under the Mountain. But wait! I forgot. You do not have a mountain. So that would make you…_no one_, really."

I gasped. "Come on! That was uncalled for! Hitting below the belt! Cheap shot!"

Both Thorin and the goblin king ignored me. They were having a stare off. (Thorin was totally winning.) Eventually, the goblin king sat back in his throne and smiled.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin frowned.

"Do you not know?" asked the goblin king. "You are being hunted. A pale orc a top a white warg is willing to pay a pretty price for your head. Just your head. Nothing else attached."

"A pale orc?" I asked.

"Azog the Defiler died years ago," said Thorin darkly.

"Oh?" The goblin king smiled. "So you think his defiling days are over, do you?"

"Azog?" I asked. "Can someone fill me in on this?"

Balin sighed. "Azog the Defiler was a pale orc who killed Thorin's grandfather, Thror, near Khazad-dum. Azog swore to wipe out the line of Durin, but when he fought Thorin, Thorin cut off his arm and Azog slunk back into the mountain. He has not been seen or heard from since."

"Oh," I said. "So it's a revenge thing. Why is he called Azog the Defiler? Did he mess with some dwarf's beard and join the ranks of the Beard Defilers?"

"What?" Balin gave me a funny look. "No."

"Then how did he get that name?"

"No one knows," said Balin. "He has always been called that."

"I'm tell you," I said. "He probably accidentally cut off some dwarf's beard in battle and has been known as Azog the Beard Defiler. Eventually it just got shortened to Defiler."

Everyone stared at me.

"Where do you create these things?" asked Gloin.

"You don't want to know," said Nick.

"She pulls them out of her arse," grunted Dwalin.

I struggled against the goblins holding me and cried, "You don't know a thing about what's going on with my arse!"

Thorin sighed. "Do not encourage her. She is bad enough already without your help."

"Hey, Ana!" said Nick. "This guy seems to know you pretty well."

"Shut up!" roared the goblin king. On of the goblin minions lashed Nick with a whip and Nick cringed in pain, shrinking to the side furthest away from the goblins. The king glowered at Nick for a second before addressing the rest of us. "You may only talk when I command you to talk! trap her to the Bone Breaker. I want to hear that unfunny girl squeal!"

I screamed. "I don't like the Bone Breaker! I don't like the Bone Breaker! I don't like the Bone Breaker! Thorin! Save me!"

And he did. Well, to be fair, Thorin didn't actually save me. His sword did. Just as they were placing me on the Bone Breaker, one of the unwitting goblins started inspecting Thorin's sword, Orcrist, as a piece of plundered. But the moment the goblin started to unsheathe the elven blade, he screamed and dropped the glowing weapon.

"The goblin cleaver!" they cried.

In their rage, the goblins strapped me into the Bone Breaker.

The goblin king tried to climb up on his throne to get away from the sword. "I know that sword!" he squealed. "I know that sword! Biter! The goblin cleaver! Lash them! Whip them! Kill them all!"

The goblins leapt on Thorin and Company, weapons drawn and teeth pulled back into menacing leers. For a second, it looked like the end of the dwarves. But then, there was a flash of bright light. The goblins screamed and fell to their knees, covering their eyes and cowering in agony.

When the light faded, there, amongst the rubble and rabble of goblin town, stood Gandalf the Grey.

The goblin king shrieked and pointed at Glamdring, the glowing blade in Gandalf's right hand. "It is Beater! The Foe Hammer!"

"Take up arms," said Gandalf. "Fight. Fight!"

Thorin jumped to his feet, pushing a goblin aside, and picked up Orcrist. He started attacking the goblins with all his majesty. Heads and limbs were sent flying.

The other dwarves soon followed Thorin's example. Oin picked up his hunting staff and swung it around his body, smashing in goblin heads. Gloin wielded his battle axe like an expert, splitting goblins down the middle left and right. Fili had his dual swords drawn. He moved so quickly I could not see the blades, only a flash and then a goblin lay dead on the floor. Kili was using his sword (for one the bow remain strapped to his back) and ferocious, hairless rat he was. Bifur ran goblins through with his boar spear and Bofur crushed heads with his mattock. Bombur mostly whacked the goblins with his bulging stomach and sent the foul creatures flying. Sometime he whack them with his mace and other times he would stab them with a hunting knife, but the stomach smash seemed to be his favorite weapon. Nori swung about his mace and goblins crumpled at his feet. Dori sliced and diced with his sword and Ori, precious little Ori, fired his slingshot in every direction he could. Dwalin wielded his dual battle axes like a pro with his brother, Balin, beheaded orcs right beside him.

Okay, okay, I admit that the dwarves fighting as at, um, successful as I make it sound. The goblin king almost ate Nori until Dwalin punched the king with his brass knuckles. Ori and his slingshot needed saving several times. (Thank you, Thorin, Fili, Balin, Kili, Thorin, Nori, Dori, and Thorin for that.) At one point, a goblin arrow almost embedded itself in Fili's head, but Kili pulled his brother out of the way at the last second.

Throughout the whole fight, I remained tied to the Bone Breaker, pray to whoever would listen that none of the goblins would remember my existence. Unfortunately, it was no meant to be. Three goblins decided it would be fun to torture me in the middle of the battle. They started to turn on the Bone Breaker.

I screamed. "No! No! You don't need to do that! I'm not doing anything! I'm just sitting here quietly! I'm harmless! I'm harmless!"

"The goblins snickered and continued about their work.

"Ana!" shouted Nick. "Ana!"

My screams doubled and then—whack—one goblin head went flying, two goblin heads went flying, three goblin heads went flying.

"You are more trouble than you are worth."

I stared at Thorin. He sliced open the ropes binding me to the Bone Breaker and I sat up, rubbing my wrists. I looked up at him and cried, "Oh my God—I'm so sorry, Thorin!"

He frowned in confusion. "For being a nuisance?"

"I never realized just how majestic you are before now!" I said. "I mean, I knew you were majestic, but never _this_ majestic."

Thorin rolled his eyes. "Go save the other strange person."

I hopped off the Bone Breaker and sprinted across the platform to the cage. Thorin remained behind, killing more goblins.

"Hey, Nick!" I said.

"You have some handy friends," said Nick.

"Where's the key?" I asked.

"Where do you think?" said Nick. "The goblin king has it."

I started at the fat king who was battling Gandalf with his massive mace. I could not see a key anywhere around him.

"Where?"

Nick shuddered. "Around his neck."

I gasped. "Underneath the flab beard?"

Nick nodded gravely.

"Nope," I said, turning around. "That's it. You're staying in goblin town until you grow old and grow a beard. I'm not getting that key."

"Ana!"

I groaned. "You owe me one!"

I sprinted across the battlefield, screaming whenever a goblin got too close (which was often). I bumped into Dwalin and he spun around, ready to cleave my head off.

"It's me!" I cried, covering my face with my hands. "Me! Ana!"

"What are you doing?" grunted Dwalin, blocking a goblin's attack.

"I need to get the key off the goblin king's neck!"

"Why?"

"To free Nick."

Dwalin glanced at the cage. "You cannot get him out without the key?"

I shook my head.

Dwalin snorted and walked across the battlefield, cutting down goblins as he went. He reached the cage and grasped two metal bars next to ear other. He let out a deep roar and bent the metal bars into a hole big enough for Nick to crawl out of. Dwalin turned to me and said, "_This_ is why you are not a dwarf." Then he marched back into the fighting.

"Damn," said Nick. "That is some dwarf."

"Still not majestic," I said.

"Just awesome."

"Yep."

"Run!" shouted Thorin. "Across the bridge!"

Gandalf lead the way as we sprinted across a rickety wooden bridge towards the exit (wherever that was). Goblins assailed us from all direction. Wicked grins crossed their faces and their weapons were frighteningly sharp.

"I don't do goblins!" I cried, sprinting after Kili and Fili.

Let me get the record straight, I am not in shape. I was slowly getting into shape with all this running I had been doing in Middle Earth. Nick, however, had been on the track team since middle school. The damn guy—with his long legs—ran faster than the dwarves. So, here I am huffing and puffing at the back of the group and Nick is jogging ahead of me like it's a walk in the park.

"I thought it was everyone from your world who was slow," said Kili. "Now I realize it was just you."

"Nick!" I wailed. "That's cheating!"

"You'd better run faster," said Nick. "The goblins are catching up!"

I should never have glanced over my shoulder. The damn goblins were right behind me. I screamed and tripped. I fell into a gap in the rickety bridge and tumbled down, down—whack. I hit another wooden bridge placed right underneath the other one. I sat and rubbed my aching forehead.

"Well," I said. "That was convenient."

Then I saw the goblins running towards me. I screamed and sprinted in the opposite direction.

"We lost Ana!" shouted Fili.

"She will find her way back!" said Thorin. "She always does!"

"Thorin!" I screamed, sprinting beneath him. "Save me!"

"See," said Thorin. "What did I tell you?" He jumped through a gap in his bridge and landed on the ground in front of me. I screamed and leapt backwards, but when I saw it was Thorin, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he swung his sword.

I screamed.

He killed a goblin behind me.

I totally knew he was going to do that. Totally.

"If I have to save you life one more time," said Thorin. "I am going to kill you."

I nodded. Then Thorin led the way across the bridges, killing goblins as we ran. Eventually, our path rose upwards and met with the rest of the group. Somehow, someway, we managed to make it to the stone bridge leading to the exit of goblin town. Gandalf led us across the bridge—but he did not make it more than halfway. The fat goblin king landed on the bridge, his flab swinging wildly.

"You cannot escape," said the goblin king. "What will you do now, Gandalf?"

"Kick him in the nuts," I said.

Nick leaned over and whispered to me. "I don't think goblins have nuts."

"We do have nuts," said the goblin king indignantly. "I have a splendid pair of nuts."

"I do not want to hear this," said Dori.

"Kick him!" I said. "Kick him hard!"

Gandalf poked the goblin king in the eye with his staff and then sliced the king's stomach open with Glamdring.

"You missed his nuts!" I shouted.

The goblin king's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he toppled off the bridge into the darkness below. The other goblins watched in horror as their leader disappeared. They shrieked and squawked, unable to move.

"Run!" shouted Gandalf.

We sprinted across the bridge, the dwarves and Gandalf killing goblins as they went. We reached a dark stone tunnel and Gandalf provided light as we raced away from goblin town. I do not know how long we ran through the tunnel, nor did I know where we were headed. I only followed Gandalf's lead. And then, we reached sunlight.

I remember that feeling. The feeling of stepping out from the eternal darkness of the mountain and goblin town into the bright sunlight—a place where goblins cannot harm you. I laughed and spread my arms as we sprinted down the mountainside, coming to a stop between two tall oak trees.

"Freedom!" cried Nick, laughing with me. "I've been stuck in goblin town for so long."

"It's been six months in our world since I dropped you here," I said.

"It has been about the same time in Middle Earth," said Thorin.

"Damn," said Nick. "That was terrible. The goblins wouldn't let me bathe or go to the bathroom." We all edged away from him. "They fed me old bones—it was nasty." He shuddered. "Six months is a long time."

"I know," I said. "I got a date."

"Really?" Nick nodded approvingly. "Good for you. Who with?"

"A cute neighbor named Jack."

"Cute is best," said Nick. "Do you know how Joanna is?"

"I haven't seen her," I said. "I had to drop out of school—what with all the Skipping and everything."

"Right." Nick paused. "Fired from another job."

"Yep."

"Sucks."

"Yep."

We grinned and hugged each other.

"I missed you!" I cried. "And I'll hug you even though you smell terrible!"

So, yeah, that's the story of how I got Nick back. But, you know, that's not even _close_ to the end of my story. Hate to tell you this, but we're going to be here for a long time… Wait! Don't leave! I promise you! It gets better! It gets better! Sit down and have another ale and I'll get to the good parts soon. I promise.

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**A/N: This chapter took forever to write. I think it's the longest chapter yet... Please review. For the sake of Thorin's majesty, please review.**


	20. Professional Burglar In Action

**XX: Professional Burglar In Action**

"Have you seen Bonnie?" I asked.

"Bonnie came too?" Nick frowned and shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone except goblins for a long time."

"Makes you miss your friends, huh?"

"Mainly my girlfriend," said Nick.

"Bleh," I said, sticking my tongue out. "Who would miss Joanna? She's the B to my itch."

"She's not that bad," said Nick. "Hot, you know."

'Urg. You're terrible. I'm ignoring you now." I turned around and faced the group of dwarves and Gandalf who stood on the side of the mountain, frowns fixed on all their faces.

"What'd I miss?" I asked.

"Mister Baggins appears to be missing," said Balin.

"Oh yeah," I said. "I noticed he was gone while we were with the goblin king. He must have slipped away—he _is_ a burglar after all."

"If he is a burglar then I'm a rat," said Kili.

"You are a rat, Kili," I said. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Why did you not say anything when you realized he was missing?" asked Gandalf.

"I was a little concerned with the Bone Breaker, thank you very much," I said.

"I saw him slip away when the goblins were pushing us along the stone pathway," said Nori.

"He must have snuck away while we were not looking," said Dwalin, glaring at a tree trunk for no particular reason. (Probably imagining it was Bilbo, so he could glare the poor hobbit to death.)

"Bilbo would not leave us!" cried Kili. "He is not burglar, but he is not a bad hobbit."

"He planned on leaving us earlier," muttered Thorin.

"He did?" Ori looked around the group, but most of them had puzzled expressions on their faces.

"He did," said Bofur. "He said he wanted to head home and that he did not belong on the road."

"Well, that is true," said Dwalin. "The road is not meant for half-hearted folk."

"Oh, look, there's a thrush over there. Nick? Do you see the thrush?" I pointed up in the trees. "I like thrushes. They're not nearly as awesome as monkeys, but they are pretty awesome."

"He has wanted to go home from the very beginning," said Dori.

"Guys! Guys! Look at the thrush! Look at the thrush!"

"He looks down on us," said Oin. "He thinks that he has a home and we have none so he is the better person."

"It's such a pretty thrush. Don't you guys want to see the thrush?"

"He only wants to go home," said Bofur. "It is not his fault."

"Oh look, the thrush is flying away. Look! Last chance to see the thrush! Going, going go—"

"Ana!" roared Thorin. "No one wants to see your stupid thrush!"

I stopped, still pointing at the spot where the thrush had been perched. Slowly, I turned to glare at Thorin. "Oh? Oh? We're yelling now, are we? Don't call the thrush stupid. Since we're accusing Bilbo of every misdeed under the sun, why don't I accuse you, Thorin—why don't I? You want to know why Bilbo tried to leave? Because you're a huge jerk who told him he didn't belong here. Way to make him feel like an outsider Thorin. Way to do it."

"It is his fault!" Thorin stepped forward. "That cowardly hobbit has thought of nothing but his home since the moment we left the Shire. He should just go home then! He is no burglar! He was not meant to join us on our quest! He has been nothing bu t a burden since he left his fire!"

"You're a stupid, stubborn, pigheaded dwarf who had better figure out how to treat others with respect or you're going to end up dead on the side of the highway and pile of road kill that nobody cares about because you're already dead!"

"Are you threatening me? Are you threatening me? You're no better than the hobbit! You cannot even carry out a decent conversation with talking about monkeys or something ridiculous like that! You are just as much a burden as he is! I bet the hobbit has run home long ago and left us to die and no doubt you will do that same too! Just disappear back to wherever you came from!"

I glared at Thorin. Thorin glared at me. The rest of the dwarves were silent, their eyes flickered between Thorin and me. Nick looked ready to run away and Gandalf seemed rather resigned.

"Um, before you two argue any more, I'm right here."

I spun around and saw a little hobbit standing behind me. His brown eyes were wide with surprise. His hands moved towards his pockets and I saw him slip something golden into them.

"Bilbo," said Gandalf with a sigh of relief. "You made it out."

"Bilbo!" cried Kili. "We had given you up."

"How did you ever make it past the goblins?" asked Fili.

Without much hesitation, Bilbo launched into his story of a professional burglar in action. He had managed to sneak away from the goblins pushing us along the pathway, but when he tried to follow, an orc attacked him. The two of them fell into a pit. Bilbo had managed to survive the fall, but the orc had been severely wounded. A little, shriveled creature with huge eyes and not very many teeth came along and killed the orc with a rock. Then the creature, Bilbo called him Gollum, dragged the dead orc back to his island for eating. Bilbo followed Gollum and hid behind a rock, watching. Gollum detected Bilbo though and was about to eat him, when Bilbo came up with the idea of a game of riddles. Gollum seemed to have two personalities and the more pleasant—if such a creature can ever be called pleasant—personality agreed to the game. If Bilbo won, Gollum would show him the way out and if Gollum won then he would eat Bilbo. The game of riddles continued and in the end, Bilbo won. (He did not make any mention of the Ring). Gollum, however, planned to cheat. But Bilbo cleverly hid and Gollum, thinking Bilbo knew the way out, ran for the exit. Bilbo followed Gollum and the creature led him out of the mountain.

The dwarves roared with laughter.

"Very well done, Bilbo," they cried. "Such a great story! We did not realize what a great burglar you actually are!"

Thorin frowned. "There is something I do not understand."

We all turned to stare at Thorin. He did not take his eyes off Bilbo as he asked, "Why did you come back?"

Bilbo swallowed and shuffled his feet. "I know that I am lost, Thorin. I miss my home. I miss my armchair. I miss my fire. I miss having six meals a day. I have a home, I have a home and you don't have one. Someone took it from you. But I will try and help you take it back. If I can."

Thorin actually managed a small smile.

"There we go," I said. "Bilbo came back. You know, he probably ran away in the first place because Thorin's majesty was just too intimidating." I grinned.

Thorin stared at me for a good, long moment and then he said, "Or Bilbo could not stand your stupidity any longer." He paused. "Or your terrible outfits."

"Yeah," said Nick. "Not a good fashion choice."

"I told you," I said. "I was going to bed!"

"Ana," said Nick. "You're so much fun to make fun of."

"I hate you. I'm giving you back to the goblins."

"Aw, come on now. You wouldn't do tha—"

A rolling howl cut off Nick. We all spun around to see a group of orcs and wargs on top of a mountain ledge. In the front of the pack, there was a massive, white warg carrying a pale orc with scars crisscrossing across his face and bare chest. He shouted something in the foul orc language and the wargs started down the mountainside.

"Run!" shouted Gandalf.

The dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf started down the mountain. Nick turned to go too, but I caught hold of his hand.

"Don't let go," I said. "I don't want to Skip without you?"

"Skip?" asked Nick.

A warg pushed off with its hind legs and flew through the air towards us. Its mouth open, revealing sharp, yellow teeth—

Skip.

Nick and I were sitting on my bed.

"Whew," I said. "That was crazy."

"What _was_ that?" asked Nick. "Skip? Ana—what are you not telling me?"

"I'll tell you in a bit," I said, glancing at the clock (it was noon). "First, you need to get off my bed because you are _disgusting_. Second, I need a shower and to get ready for my date. Actually, no. You get a shower first. Then I'll get a shower. Then we'll sit down with coffee and I'll explain everything. Deal?"

Nick considered this. "Yeah… I could use a shower."

So that's what we did. Nick got a shower, I took a quick nap. I got a shower and then we sat on the sofa and drank our coffee. And I explained everything to Nick. I told him the whole story. I told him about the Skipping when I was six. I told him about how it had been going on for fifteen years. And I had accidentally brought Bonnie and him to Middle Earth.

Nick was an amazingly good listener. He did not say a word throughout my entire story. It was only when I finished that Nick spoke.

"Your life is really fucked up."

I nodded. "Yep. Welcome to my world."

"And your parents don't know."

"Not a clue."

"Wow. I mean, wow. You're bullshitting abilities are beyond my comprehension."

I laughed. "The amount of bullshit I've had to come up with is ridiculous."

"And you've been running around with Thorin and the dwarves for awhile."

"Thorin longer than the rest of the dwarves," I said.

"I could tell."

"And then I've got the Fellowship. You should meet Boromir some time. He and I are besties. Man, I wish he lived in Ohio. We'd hang out all the time and get drunk a lot. I still have to beat him in a drinking competition—no. You know who I have to beat in a drinking competition? An elf. I don't care what elf it is—I just need to beat an elf. Maybe Arwen. Arwen doesn't seem like she'd be that good of a drinker."

"Is Arwen that hot elf you told me about?"

"Yeah."

Nick clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's go to Middle Earth and beat Arwen in a drinking competition."

I sighed. "Remind me never to bring you to Middle Earth again. You're dangerous for poor Arwen. She has a fiancé, you know."

"Aragorn," said Nick. "But he's off on a dangerous quest from which he might never return, I could sneak in th—"

"Nick," I said. "That is disgusting and if you ever mention it again, I will feed you to the monkeys at the zoo." I paused. "Can we go to the zoo? I haven't seen the monkeys in awhile."

"I don't want to see the monkeys," said Nick. "I just got back from Middle Earth after six months—I want to see my girlfriend. Not some stupid monkeys."

I gasped. "Nick Handrew. We are no longer friends. Monkeys are the greatest things that ever happened to Earth. End of story."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say."

"So," I said, sipping my coffee. "What happened with you in goblin town? How did you avoid being eaten or being tortured?"

"Mad skill," said Nick.

"Tell the truth."

Nick laughed. "Okay, okay. So I ended up in the middle of goblin town, right in front of the goblin king's throne. The goblins thought it was magic, so they were scared of me at first. But soon they realized I was kind of pathetic and they were going to eat me. I tried to explain to them that I was a vegetarian and it would be awfully ironic if I died by being eaten. The goblin king thought this was hysterical so he made me tell him another joke and another and another and another. Until eventually he locked me up in a cage and had me tell him jokes whenever he got bored." Nick shuddered. "For six months. They wouldn't let me out to go to the bathroom so I had to go in my cage. They didn't let me bathe and they thought it would be funny to feed the vegetarian meat!"

I grinned. "You're such an elf."

"Really? That's what you got out of that?"

I patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through such a horrible experience. But you have to admit, the goblins have an awesome sense of humor."

"So," said Nick. "When are you going back?"

"Back?"

"To Middle Earth."

I shrugged. "I don't know. It comes and it goes. Whenever I next Skip. Hopefully you're not holding on to me next time."

"Yeah," said Nick. "That wouldn't be good. Or you could be holding onto Jack during your date and Skip him to Middle Earth with you." Nick laughed. "You know, dangerous adventures are a perfect way to spark romance between two people."

"Then why aren't I in love with you?" I said. "Besides, Thorin and the dwarves would be too much for poor Jack."

"He sounds like a nancy," said Nick.

"Says the guy who likes to wear pink shirts and won't eat meat." I grinned. "Thank God you never had to eat a meal with the dwarves."

"I bet you would have loved that," said Nick, shaking his head. "Those poor animals—what did they do to deserve to be eaten? You know, after being threatened by goblins, you should have more sympathy for those poor cows and pigs and chickens."

"As long as the monkeys remain of the menu, I really don't care." I glanced at the clock. "Oh shoot!"

"What?" asked Nick, jumping up from his seat. "What's up?"

"My date!" I cried. "Jack is going to show up at any moment—how do I look?"

"Great," said Nick. "I would never be able to tell that you were just running away from goblins and almost eaten by a wolf."

"Warg," I corrected. "Okay, okay, when Jack knocks on the door, I want you to hide."

"Hide? Why?"

"Because I can't be seen with another guy in my apartment right before a date! That makes me look like a slut!"

"Ana, Honey," said Nick, patting me on the shoulder. "You are the furthest thing from a slut imaginable."

"I was just running around with dwarves in my pajamas."

"Even then, even then."

There was a knock on the door. I sprinted towards the door, only to trip over my coffee table. Nick strode past me and opened the apartment door. He stood face to face with Jack. Well, more like face to chest. Nick was over six-foot and Jack was more in the five-foot-seven range. But the two guys glared at each other for a moment.

"If you don't anything to hurt my precious Ana," said Nick. "I will feed to the wolves." He paused. "Wargs."

I stood up from the floor. "Nick! Get away from the door! Sorry, Jack, I told him to leave but he didn't want to. I was just, um, um, um, tutoring him for his history class…"

"Yeah," said Nick. He glowered at Jack. "You're interrupting our study session."

"Go away," I said. "Stepping through the doorway and grabbing Jack by the arm. "Let's go."

Nick suddenly grinned at us and waved enthusiastically. "Good-bye, Sweetheart. Have fun on your date!"

"It's not a date," said Jack.

Nick looked confused for a second and then he turned to me, a wide smirk spreading across his face. "Oh-ho! It's not a date, is it?"

"Oh damn," I said and then slammed the apartment door behind me. I turned to Jack with a huge smiled. "Ignore that idiot. He's lived amongst goblins for far too long. We were going to go get coffee, right?"

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**A/N: The amount of writing I do in a day...I'm up to 134 pages already on my Word document and I start - what? - Friday? Sometimes I amaze even myself.**

**Please review. Once for every page on the Word document? **


	21. A Painful Lack Of Romance

**XXI: A Painful Lack Of Romance **

"Alright," I said, sitting down at the round metal table. Jack sat opposite me, holding his mocha frappuccino.

"I don't know how you can drink that," I said, pulling my brown jacket around me closer. "It's freezing outside."

"It's the taste that matters," said Jack. "Besides, we're sitting inside."

"True," I said. "But I'm a hot drinks on cold days and cold drinks on hot days kind of a girl. Balance is best. Like a balanced breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I didn't actually have breakfast today so that's probably the reason why I can't stop talking right now. See, breakfast is really important."

Jack laughed. "You really don't know how to stop talking."

"Not at all."

Jack's smiled faded. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of folded up paper. I leaned forward, trying to figure out what it was. Then, he started to unfold it and I saw that it was a list of mythical creatures that I could possibly be.

"Not this again!" I cried, trying to stop from laughing. "Really? Really? You're trying hard."

"I'm trying to figure out how you can teleport," said Jack.

"It's cute," I said. "It's really cute. Alright." I leaned back in my chair and sipped my coffee. "Give it to me."

"This is embarrassing," muttered Jack. "Okay, first on the list is vampire."

"I want to suck your blood." I laughed.

"Okay," said Jack crossing it off the list with a pen. "Next is werewolf—which doesn't really make sense since you teleported."

"You got me," I said. "I jumped off the roof, turned into a wolf, sprinted back up the building to the roof and turned back into the human. I'm awesome like that."

"No," said Jack. "I didn't think so. Alright. How about a nymph?"

I laughed and clapped my hands together excitedly. "Can I be a nymph? That'd be fun! I'll be a sea nymph. Watch me ride the ocean waves! Except I'd constantly have the taste of salt in my mouth. That wouldn't be fun… Okay, I'm not a nymph."

"You're having too much fun with this," muttered Jack. "Next on the list is a fairy."

"Ew," I said. "Fairies are little things that fly around and follow little boys in stupid green outfits. Thoug have the blond thing going for me."

"Not a fairy," said Jack. "You're too short to be an ogre or a troll…"

"What do you think I am!? I'm not that ugly!" I groaned. "Why does everyone say I'm ugly or fat? It's not funny!"

"I said you're not an ogre or a troll…"

"Because I'm _short_!"

"Are you a dwarf?"

Right when he said that, I had taken a sip of coffee. I spat it out all over the table. "Yes! I want to be a dwarf! Then I can truly be majestic! Can I be was dwarf, please?"

"I'll take it that you're not one then."

"But I want to be one! Dwarves are my idols. Well, mainly one dwarf—but still please can I be dwarf? Please? They would never let me be one. Mean people—but that's what makes them so awesome!"

Jack frowned. "You know dwarves?"

"Oh. You know. A little. Us short people have to stick together."

"So it's a short person thing," said Jack. He frowned. "Are you an elf?"

"What?" I made a face. "I don't wanna be an elf. Pick something else. How did you even go from dwarf—short—to elves?"

"Elves are short," said Jack. "Like Santa's little helpers."

I laughed. "Aw man, they'd be insulted to hear that. Nope. Hate to break it to you, but elves are tall and snobbish and hippies."

"You know elves?"

"Nope. I'm just saying. Look it up on the internet."

Jack slurped his drink through the straw. "Suspicious, very suspicious. You know elves and dwarves."

"No, I don't. I know short people and I know how to use the internet. It's quite simple really. You just want me to be some magical being so you can say to your friends—hey. guess what! I went on a date with an elf. And they'll all be like—no, you didn't. You'll be like—yes, I did. And that'll go on for ten minutes and then you'll realize your friends will never believe you so you make up some lie about how you went on a date with a girl as hot as an elf."

"What? No." Jack frowned, creases appearing between his eyebrows. "I just want to know how you can teleport."

"I don't teleport," I said.

"Yes, you do," said Jack. "Also, this is not a date."

"Why won't you admit that it's a date?" I wailed. "I don't get to go on dates often—let me have this one date to brag about!"

Jack sighed. "Fine. It's a date."

"Yes!" I pumped my fist in the air. "I have a date. I have a date. I have a date, a date, a date, a date. Oh yeah."

"Do you do that all the time?" asked Jack.

"What?"

"Sing that you have a date."

"Only half the time," I said. "The other times I teleport like boss."

"You just said you didn't teleport."

"I changed my mind. I teleport now. I'm like Superman or—wait? Does Superman teleport? I don't remember. He's like the superhero of superheroes, so I feel like he should be able to teleport."

"I don't think he teleports," said Jack.

"Wait," I said. "Superman doesn't teleport. But I can teleport… Awesome! I can compete with Superman on the badass level!"

Jack laughed and shook his head. "You are far from badass."

"I am the second most badass thing to exist," I said. "Actually make that third. I am the third most badass thing to exist."

"What beat you?"

"Well the second most badass thing is Superman," I said. "And the third most badass thing is Thorin."

"Thorin?"

"He's badass."

"Thorin?"

"Yep."

"Thorin?"

"Yeah?"

"Thorin?"

"Don't abuse his name!"

Jack put his empty coffee cup down. "Who is Thorin? His name sounds weird."

I gasped. "Did you just insult Thorin twice? First you did not know who Thorin was and second you insulted his name. Blasphemy! Blasphemy, I tell you!"

"Do you have some sort of unhealthy obsession with this guy? Is he some weird celebrity I should know?"

I grinned. "He's a huge celebrity. Kingly, I might say. And, yes, I'm obsessed with him. He's my idol. Boromir says I bring up Thorin in every single conversation somehow. I don't know. I don't think I'm that bad."

Jack coughed.

"Okay, okay—I'm that bad!"

"I'm finished with my coffee," said Jack, prodding his empty cup.

"I'm not," I said. "I'm savoring it. The coffee deliciousness must not be wasted."

"Well, you can take that with you, can't you?" said Jack.

"Why? Is the date over already?"

"No… I was going to see if you watched to catch a movie."

I blinked. Okay, let me just take in the moment. Me. A girl who could not hold onto anything long than a minute before she disappeared. Was being asked to go see a movie. By a cute guy. I was drooling! (Well, not literally because then he would never ask me out again.) But inside I was drooling. My life was complete. Complete, I tell you! Date was a success!

(You can tell where this is headed.)

So, we left the coffee shop and headed for the theater, which was a few blocks away. We didn't talk all that much as we walked. Or, if we did, I don't remember that much of it. I spent most of the walk staring at Jack's incredible face and wondering how I could possibly be on a date with _that_.

"So what movie do you want to see?" asked Jack.

I had no idea. I didn't even know what showing. I spent too much time in another world to keep up with movies.

"You pick," I said.

Jack picked the biggest action movie he could. I swear I would have a fit just looking at the cover. I don't like action movies. The ones with swords and bows and lots and lots of blood. I had seen action movies before. Bonnie liked to make Nick and I watch them when it was her turn to pick on movie night. Nick is squeamish when it comes to blood and violence (I'm amazed he survived the goblins.) I just didn't like the movies. They were either a) incredible inaccurate, or b) too close to my actual life for comfort. Mostly action movies fell into the first category. I have no appreciation for inaccurate fight scenes. But the second category. Now those were scary.

"Sure," I said. "Let's see that." (God, what was I getting myself into?)

Jack paid for the tickets and the popcorn (What a gentleman!). Then we headed to the theater to find seats at the back. We settled down to watch the commercials and ate fistfuls of popcorn.

"Do you like action movies?" asked Jack. "Or should I have picked the comedy?"

"Oh, um, actions movies are good," I said. "I guess. I mean it gets kind of annoying when they use the swords wrong and everyone's just so good at it. The worst are the fantasy movies. Don't even get me started on the ridiculous dragons in those movies. Totally inaccurate—you'd think, have these people ever seen a real dragon?"

"Um." Jack looked at me sidelong. "Most people haven't seen a real dragon. Have you?"

I blinked. "Of course, I have! It's called the internet! It's a wondrous place of facts and lies. When you go look up elves, look up dragons as well. Now those will show you some real dragons—not these fake kind in the movies."

"You're a little weird," said Jack, smiling.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'm a little weird. You know. Embrace the weirdness. Like I always say, I would rather have a root beer float cake rather than just plain vanilla cake. Some people say, well the classic is the best. And I say—No, try the new thing because root beer float cake is friggin' awesome!"

"I have no idea what you just said," said Jack.

I grinned. "I get that a lot."

The lights dimmed in the theater and the feature presentation began. I reached for a bite of popcorn—but I never got it. My hand reached out and caught hold a dry, dead bush. I screamed and pushed myself away. I fell off the rock I was sitting on and landed in the dry grass.

It was late in the morning and I was in a grassland area with dying trees and drying plants. Everything was browning as if the place had been struck by some disease.

I stood up and looked around. This was _not_ the movie theater.

"Great!" I cried, collapsing to the ground. Well, there went my one chance at a successful date. He was going to think I ditched him in the move theater. I took a deep breath. Unless I could get back before the movie ended. Maybe he wouldn't realize I was gone… (Yes, I realize this was a slim hope, but I was desperate and single at the time!)

I turned around in search of a cliff or something I could jump off of and—wham—I tripped over a hobbit.

"Hey!" I said, picking myself off the ground and brushing dirt off my pants. "Watch where you're going!"

The hobbit leapt up from his sleeping bag, drawing his dagger. His blue eyes widened in astonishment when he caught sight of me.

"Ana?"

"Frodo?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the rock I had been sitting on and then back to Frodo's sleeping bag and the sleeping bag next to his. He had set up camp just behind some bushes so that passers-by would not see him unless they practically stepped on him (like me).

"What are you doing here?" asked Frodo.

"You still have to ask that question at this point?" I asked. I looked around. "Where is everyone else?"

"Everyone else?" Frodo frowned, and then slow understanding cross his face. "You were not here for the breaking of the Fellowship."

"The breaking!?" I cried. "Whoa, whoa, when did this happen?"

"After we left Lothlorien," said Frodo. "Gandalf died and, and, and…" Frodo took a deep breath. "I felt as though I had to go to Mordor on my own. But Sam insisted on coming with me." He smiled at the empty blanket. "He must be off preparing breakfast."

"Good old, Sam," I said. "But still—you broke the Fellowship!? Because Gandalf died? But, but, but he came back to life!"

"Ana, what are you talking about?"

I froze. Should I tell Frodo what had happened? Was he supposed to know Gandalf had come back to life? Who knew?

"Ah, I meant, I'm going to bring Gandalf back to life. You heard me. Before your quest is over, I'm going to bring Gandalf back to life."

Frodo smiled weakly. "You keep working on that, Ana."

"I will. I promise you. It's going to happen."

Frodo did not anything. I don't think he believed me. Well, I wouldn't really believe me either. Of course, I felt a bit bad for taking credit for Gandalf's resurrection, but, you know, I _was_ going to bring him back to life. So I am owed partial credit.

"So, how have you been?" I asked.

"Alive," said Frodo.

"Nasty hobbit, fat hobbit, we curses it, we curses it."

I spun around and saw the most pitiful, ugly, sad creature I could ever imagine. He crawled along the ground on all-fours. His head was bald with a few strands of long, greasy hair hanging down. He was nothing more than skin and bones. Each division of his spine was clear beneath his gray skin. He only wore a brown loincloth. When he lifted his head, I could see his huge, bulbous gray eyes. He stared at me and then at Frodo and then back to me. His eyes narrowed with distaste and distrust.

"Um, hi," I said, waving.

"What is it, precious?" asked the creature, beginning to circle me. "What is it? Can we eats it, precious? Does it tastes good, precious?"

"Do not eat her, Smeagol," said Frodo. "She is a friend."

"Friends? Smeagol does not have any friends. Is that not right, precious? Theres is only Smeagol and the precious and the foods."

"Is he alright?" I asked Frodo.

"His name is Smeagol, or Gollum," said Frodo.

"Gollum?" The memory of Bilbo's burglar story was still fresh in my mind. I glanced down at the pitiful creature. "Why is he with you?"

"He is our guide," said Frodo. "He is leading us into Mordor."

I glanced down at Gollum. "Well, that's suspicious."

"Nasty girls, nasty girls," said Gollum. "She suspects poor, innocent Smeagol. What has Smeagol ever done to her? She does not likes Smeagol? Smeagol does not likes her."

"And I've lost nothing," I said, turning back to Frodo. "Where's Sam?"

"He's—"

"Mister Frodo!" Sam came running through the bushes. He was thinner than before, but with the same messy blond hair and chubby cheeks. He stopped when he saw me. "Ana!"

"Hey, Sam," I said. "Long time no see."

"What are you doing here?"

"Me?" I shrugged. "Well, I was in the middle of a date—a great date too. It was going well. And then—poof—I disappeared. God, the guy's going to think I ditched him. Arg! This is terrible! My love life is doomed, _doomed_, I tell you. I cannot keep my life in order! Arg! I had a date with a cute guy and instead I get a date with, with, with, um, that." I nodded my head towards Gollum.

"Stupid fat girl," muttered Gollum. "She thinks she's so much better than Smeagol. But Smeagol with show her. Yes, Smeagol with shows her, precious. When she sleepsies, Smeagol with find a rock and, and…" Smeagol glanced at us suspiciously.

"No, Smeagol," said Frodo. "No, hurting Ana."

Smeagol frowned. "Smeagol cannot hurts the nasty girl."

"Great," I muttered. "I go from being called fat and ugly to nasty. My life is just a little ray of sunshine."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but we were interrupted by a loud, trumpeting sound. A heavy silence fell over us and we turned to see what it was. Frodo started walking towards the noise and Sam followed, equally as curious. Honestly, my first reaction was to run away from loud noises in the middle of nowhere, but I followed them despite my better judgment. Frodo, Sam, and I lay down on the ground near a cliff edge. The view overlooked a valley were an army of men were on the march.

"Where are they headed?" I asked.

"I do not know," said Sam.

The men were dressed in red and black with darkened skin and dark eyes. They seemed ready for battle with bows and arrows strapped to their backs and swords at their sides.

"You know," I said. "I have advice for this kind of situation."

"What is that?" asked Frodo.

"Get as far away from here as you can as fast as you can."

"That is good advice," said Sam, starting to get to his feet.

"Wait!" said Frodo, grabbing Sam's wrist. "Look."

Both Sam and I turned to see. It was an elephant. Well, it wasn't really an elephant as I later found out. But when I first saw it, I could have sworn it was an elephant. The creature was about a hundred feet tall with four tusks protruding from its face. There was a wooden structure attached to its back where the men walked about.

"It is an oliphant," said Sam, incredulously.

"An what?" I asked.

"An oliphant," said Frodo. "But I have only ever heard of them in stories."

"You should come to my world," I said. "We have creatures like that. Being very humane people, we keep them locked up in zoos to ogle at. Though, we have not ridden them into war that I know of…Actually, we probably have. Never mind."

And then, an arrow fired. It flew through the air through a thicket of trees and embedded itself in the head of one of the men on the oliphant's back. The men screamed and fell to the ground—all one hundred feet there was to fall.

A volley of arrows soon followed the first and a battle broke out between the men and their unseen attackers. Frodo, Sam, and I watched in horror as the bloodshed ensued. Then, Frodo got to his feet.

"We have lingered here too long," he said.

Sam and I got up to follow him—and came face to face with the ends of several arrows.

I squeaked. "Eat the hobbits and not me. I don't taste good."

Sam sighed. "You have not changed in the slightest, Ana."

* * *

**A/N: School starts tomorrow, but I'll try to update at least once before then. Maybe twice. Depends on my motivation. **

**Please review. Your reviews keep me motivated. So more reviews = more chapters. Please?**


	22. Things Get Serious For A Second

**XXII: Things Get Serious For A Second**

Okay. I have another pint of ale. I'm good. So where was I with the story? Oh right. Frodo and Sam and Gollum. And those dreaded arrows. Before you get too concerned, the people attached to those arrowed were men. Men of Gondor, to be more precise. I mean, I didn't know it right then. Right then, I was more fixated on the pointy end of an arrow directed at my head.

"Don't kill me!" I cried, cringing away from the arrow. "Don't eat me! I'm innocent!"

"We do not wish to eat you," said one of the men wielding the a bow.

At that point, I actually looked beyond that dangerous weapons and saw a dark haired, bearded man. I don't know why, but I think beards make me feel more comfortably. I smiled at the man and said, "Oh good. Too many things have tried to eat me recently. Now I only have to worry about you killing me."

"Tried to eat you?" asked one of the men.

I nodded. "Goblins, wargs, balrogs, I even think a dwarf or two has considered eating me on occasion."

The men exchanged bemused glances.

One hooded man stepped forward before the others. He stared at the two hobbits and then turned to me. On me, he did a double take. "Ana?"

I blinked. I could not see the man's face underneath his hood. Quickly, I ran down the list of men I knew in this world: Boromir—nope. Aragorn—nope. Dagar—definitely not. Girion—probably dead at this point. Eomer—not him. Denethor—I'd already be arrested. Which left…

"Faramir," I said.

He removed his hood and stared at me incredulously. "What are you doing wandering about in the wilderness in these dark and troubled times?" He motioned for his men to lower their weapons.

I shrugged. "You know me. I'm just passing through."

"You know him?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," I said. "And you don't?"

"Do you know _everybody_?"

I paused and considered this. "I know a good deal of people, but I'd hardy say I new everybody. I don't have enough brain cells to remember that many people. My head would explode. I would be in a coffee shop, minding my own business, drinking a cup of coffee and them—boom—head explodes. It wouldn't be pretty. Speaking of coffee shops, my date is completely ruined. I've missed the entire movie—no big loss—and Jack is going to realize I left him—huge loss."

"She is on one of her nonsensical rants again," said Faramir.

"Does this occur often?" asked one of the men.

Faramir nodded. "A terrible affliction of the mouth."

"Terribly true," I said, nodding in agreement.

"So," said Faramir, turning serious again. "What brings you to these dangerous lands?"

"I told you," I said. "I'm just passing through."

"And these little people," said Faramir, gesturing to Frodo and Sam. "What are they?"

"They're Halflings," I said. "They're my fellow passing throughers."

"I did not know there were others like you."

"A fair few," I said. "We come and go as it pleases. We had the sudden urge to come to this land and so we did. We'll be leaving soon."

"Wait!" said one of the men, one with a short blond beard. "I know that woman."

I pointed at myself. "Me?"

"What about her, Ralen?" asked Faramir.

"Your father has a warrant for her," said Ralen gruffly. "He wants her brought back alive."

"Me?" I squeaked. "What did I ever do?"

"Ralen," said Faramir in exasperation.

"You know the laws of the land," said Ralen. "You must bring them to justice."

Faramir sighed. "It is true. Ana—we are going to have to arrest you for a short while. But I will fix the misunderstanding as soon as possible."

"Come on," I said. "Denethor can't have held a grudge against me for this long!?"

"Well," said Faramir. "To be fair, you did offer him insult. Multiple times."

"He deserved it," I said, crossing my arms. "He's a terrible father."

"And now we really must arrest them," said one of the men. "She cannot insult Lord Denethor so easily."

Faramir nodded. "I apologize, Ana. You will not remain in custody, I promise."

"Eh? Eh? Eh?" I cried. The men bound my hands behind my back. "Faramir! You're supposed to get me out of these situations! Denethor's insane! Insane I tell you! I can't believe he's held a grudge this long!"

Sam groaned as his hands were tied with rope. "Ana, I think you know a few _too_ many people."

* * *

So, Faramir and his men bound us and blind-folded us and dragged us across the lands to some secret hideout of Gondor's. I don't know the details on the location. The important part is that that it was secret. All I know is that it was located underground near some waterfall. That's all I got for you.

We were blind-folded the entire way there and our vision was restored only when we were safely inside the hideout. Frodo, Sam, and I sat on barrels and Faramir sat on a chair in front of us.

"Interrogation?" I asked.

"Formality," he said. "Sorry, but I need to ask where you are from."

"Ohio," I said.

"Not you," said Faramir. "Your fellow passing-throughers."

Frodo and Sam exchanged suspicious glances before Frodo turned back to Faramir and said, "I am Frodo and this is Samwise Gamgee."

"Your bodyguard?" asked Faramir, noticing Sam's ferocious glare.

"His gardener," said Sam.

"We are hobbits of the Shire," said Frodo. "Our business is our own, but I will tell you what I can. We set out from Rivendell on an errand of the upmost importance. Nine companions we made. One, we lost in Moria. Two others were hobbits and my kin. There was also an elf and a dwarf. Two men as well—Aragorn son of Arathorn and Boromir of Gondor."

I glanced at Faramir, a small smile playing on my lips. Frodo did not know Boromir and Faramir were brothers. Well, this could be an amusing conversation.

"Boromir of Gondor?" repeated Faramir. "Were you a friend of Boromir's?"

Frodo hesitated. "For my part. Boromir was a strong man who was an essential part of our group."

"He was more than that," I said. I turned to Faramir and grinned. "Boromir and I had wicked fun on the road. I don't know if you've seen him recently. He had to piggyback me up at tree because I was too scared. And he piggybacked me up a snowy mountain because I was too cold and too slow. You know, Boromir piggybacks me a lot."

"Ana," said Sam. "Do not go talking so easily."

"Come on," I said. "It's Faramir!"

Faramir did not smile at my comments. His face remained solemn.

"And how did you come to part from Boromir?" asked Faramir.

"What is with all this interest in Boromir?" asked Sam.

Faramir did not answer; his gaze was fixed on Frodo.

"Hey…" I said slowly. "What's going on here? Faramir? I may be dense, but even I can tell something's not right. What are you not telling me?"

"We parted ways near Argonath," said Frodo. "I realized that our errand was too dangerous for so many a people. I have not heard from him since."

"I thought as much," said Faramir. He turned to me. "I do not wish to be the one to tell you the news. It will grieve you."

"What's going on?" I asked. "What happened?"

"One night," said Faramir. "While I was on guard, I saw something floating in the waters on the Anduin. I waded into the river waters and saw that it was a boat. The boat was of fair make, not carved by any man. But the true horror was what lay inside the boat. It was that night that I found the body of my brother with wounds from orcs across his chest."

"Dead?" asked Frodo. "How when?"

"As one of his companions, I was hoping you'd tell me." Faramir rose from his seat and stormed away, leaving Frodo, Sam, and me alone.

"Maybe he was attacked by monkeys," I said, and the giggled.

"Ana," said Sam. "This is hardly the time."

"Or maybe it was the elephants. They stepped on his and squished him like a bug. Flat, pancake Boromir. Oh, I'm going to have to tell him that one. It'd be revenge for him threatening to let me fall out of the tree."

"Um, Ana," said Sam. "I think you should stop."

"You know," I said. "Those brothers are probably playing a practical joke on me. Boromir was like—Faramir, when Ana drops by next we should pretend that I'm dead and just see what she does. Then I'll jump out at her and pretend to be the ghost of Boromir and she'll get creeped out. It'll be hilarious. And then I'd be like—No. Boromir, you're a jerk. And then we'd all go get drunk and have fun."

"Ana…" said Frodo. "Boromir is dead."

"No. He's not. He's playing a practical joke on me. Did you not hear a word I just said?"

Neither Frodo nor Sam spoke another word.

I stared at the floor. I could not tear my eyes away no matter how much I tried. He wasn't dead. He wasn't dead. It was a practical, a practical. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Boromir had died. Boromir had died. Boromir had died. No he didn't. I wouldn't let him die. This was Boromir. This was the man who piggybacked me all over Middle Earth. Why would he die? I would never let him die. I could save his life. I had saved the Fellowship. This was ridiculous. I could save him. I would never let Boromir die.

I got to my feet. One of the Gondor soldiers, moved to stop me, but I ignored him. I followed Faramir to a back cave, where he stood alone, staring at the stone wall. A hard look was on Faramir's face and his eyes were narrowed as if he was trying not to cry.

"He won't stay dead," I said.

Startled, Faramir turned around. He saw that it was me and relaxed a little. "What new insanity do you speak of now, Ana?"

"It's not insanity," I said. "I've stopped people from dying before, I can do it again."

"You cannot stop death," said Faramir. "Do not be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," I said. "Time and place have no impact on me. One moment I can be standing here with you and the next moment I can be back in Rivendell with Boromir and the Fellowship. I Skip about. The next time I see Boromir, I will _tell_ him what will happen and I will _tell_ him not to die. I'll warn him. He can stay out of harm's way. He won't have to die. It'll be fine."

Faramir stared at me. "What sorcery do you speak of?"

"It's not sorcery or witchcraft or devilry," I said. "Believe me, I've been accused of enough of that in my time. No, this is something else. Something far more." I took a deep breath. "I don't understand it myself, but I am the _Senturiel_. Galadriel and Gandalf to me so. I am a magic rock. A powerful magic rock with the ability to drive men to insanity. I know what I can do. And I _can_ save Boromir. And I _will_ save Boromir."

"Ana."

"I promise you."

"Ana."

"Nope," I said, covering my ears with my hands. "Not listening. I promised you. Don't try and make me take back my promise. I will bring Boromir back. I will bring him back. See, we're all good. Why do you look so upset, Faramir? You should be happy! Boromir will come back."

"Ana."

"Whew," I said. "Things got serious there for a second. It was scary."

Faramir shook his head. "What are you doing here, Ana?"

"I told you, I'm just passing through."

"Are you not always?"

I smiled. "I'm like the wind. One moment I'm blowing over here and the next I'm blowing over there. I knock over houses and wave flowers. You have to admit, I'm pretty damn awesome."

"You are not the wind."

"Wow, Faramir," I said, my enthusiasm wilting a little. "I know I'm not actually the wind, but you didn't have to crush my happiness like that."

"Your happiness will come right back." Faramir frowned. "So, why are your friends here?"

"That," I said. "Is not my story to tell."

"They are carrying something, aren't they?" said Faramir. "I had a dreams about it. Two, to be precise. And Boromir had one. My father insisted that Boromir go to Rivendell, despite my volunteering." Faramir smiled. "My father now regrets that decision."

"Your father is a jerk," I said. "Tell me something new."

"You did not answer me," said Faramir. "They are carrying Isildur's Bane, aren't they?"

"I can't answer," I said. "I don't know what Isildur's Bane is."

"It is a trinket," said Faramir. "Of Sauron. When Sauron first came to power, an alliance was formed between men and elves. They marched on Mordor and fought Sauron. Gondor's King died at the hands of Sauron, his sword broken beneath him. But his son, Isildur, took up his father's broken sword and with it cut off Sauron's hand. Upon Sauron's hand was a trinket, a weapon, when he was separated from it, Sauron perished. Isildur took the weapon as his own, though it would one day destroy him. That weapon became known as Isildur's Bane."

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, the Ring. That's a funny name for it."

"Then it is true," said Faramir. "The Halflings carry Isildur's Bane."

I groaned. "Curse my mouth."

"It is a serious affliction," said Faramir. He smiled. "Do not worry. I would not take this thing. If it lay by the highway, if Minas Tirith falling into ruin and I alone could save her using this weapon of the Dark Lord for her good and my glory—I would not take this thing. I do not wish for such triumphs."

I grinned. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, Faramir. We all know you're amazing and gallant. It might do you some good to be a little less amazing and gallant everyone in awhile."

"I might try that some time," said Faramir.

"Good." I paused. "So, what are you planning to do with the hobbits?"

"I will feed them and look after them," said Faramir. "I want to get a bit more information out of them before I release them. They are not under my father's warrant. Only you have that honor."

"Great," I said. "So you'll take me back to Minas Tirith so your father can put me in prison."

"I cannot take you anywhere," said Faramir. "You would disappear as soon as you wished."

"Not as I wished," I said. "I have no control over the Skipping. Except when I throw myself off a building."

"You have thrown yourself off a building?" asked Faramir.

"Multiple times. Not a fun experience. Especially since I'm terrified of heights."

"Did you throw yourself off a building this time?"

I snorted. "Nope. This time was against my will. I was one date! With a cute guy! And now it's ruined! He's going to think I ditched him!"

"You cannot explain your circumstances to him?"

"Only if I want to be called insane. In my world, this is crazy. Absolutely crazy. I'd be in a psych ward within minutes if I ever told anyone. Good-bye life and hello straight jacket. But then I'd Skip here. Wouldn't it be funny to see me show up in Gondor in a straight jacket? Awkward much?"

"That is a serious problem," said Faramir. "Though I do not know what a straight jacket is, this sounds most amusing."

"It's—"

Skip.

"—not."

The movie theater was dark and a different movie was showing. A horror movie to be precise. There was blood everywhere and some blond chick was screaming. (I think that sums up every horror movie I've seen.)

"What are you doing?"

I glanced around and found that I was sitting on top of some muscular biker dude with a black beard. He glared at me. The tattoos on his arms rippled as he squeezed his cup of soda so hard that the drink overflowed at the top.

"Sorry!" I said, hopping off his lap. "Didn't mean to do that. I'll, um, I'll just be going now."

And I sprinted out of that movie theater like all hell was after me.

* * *

**A/N: I love Faramir in the book so much. I love Faramir in the movie too, but the book... Okay. Enough fangirling. I need to go to bed.**

**Also, please review. For the sake of poor Ana who cannot hold on to a man, please review.**


	23. The Enemy Doesn't Play Fair

**XXIII: The Enemy Doesn't Play Fair**

The first thing I did when I got back to my apartment was call Nick. I paced up and down my kitchen, cell phone to the ear, and waited for him to pick up.

"Hello?" The sleepy voice of Nick crackled through the phone.

"It was a disaster," I said.

There was a pause. "The coffee was that bad, huh?"

"No, the date was that bad. Guess who Skipped in the middle of the movie theater?"

"Ow. Yeah, that's not a good thing. I wouldn't advise you to do that on the next date."

"There's not going to be a next date!"

"Okay, okay, calm down, Ana. Where are you right now?"

"Home," I said. "You won't believe the most embarrassing part?"

"There's more?"

"There's always more," I said.

"Okay," said Nick. "You stay there. Don't go Skipping anywhere. And I'll come over. I have a solution for situations like this."

"Solution?" I asked. "This stuff can be solved?"

"Yep."

Nick hung up. The line beeped dead.

I removed the phone from my ear and tossed it on the couch before I collapsed in the chair next to it. Today was meant to be perfect. I had a date. With a cute guy. Perfect. But no, no, no, not for me. Not only did my date fail miserably but I found out that Boromir was going to die soon. No. He wasn't. I was going to save him. Maybe the roof would be empty…

God, I must sound suicidal.

I lay on the couch for a good half and hour before there was a knock on my apartment door. Sluggishly, I pulled myself off the couch and opened the door. Nick grinned at me and lifted a plastic grocery store bag to eye level.

"Ice cream?" I asked.

"The solution to everything," said Nick. "Ben and Jerry's Pints. Baked Alaska for you and Chocolate Fudge Brownie for me. I think that should last us a night, right?"

"Oh my God," I said, taking the plastic bag from him. "I knew there was a reason I was friends with you."

"What?" asked Nick. He stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. "It wasn't my charm and devilishly good-looks."

I went into my kitchen and got two huge spoons. "Yeah—no. If you're lucky, it was because of your stunning sense of humor. Can you tell me the joke about the orange again?"

Nick shuddered. "Now that's hitting below the belt."

"Shut up," I said, hopping onto the couch and opening my contain of delicious Baked Alaska.

"So," said Nick. "Tell me about your life."

I shoved a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. "It smphucks."

"That's a lovely face," said Nick, taking a bite from his own pints.

"I don't care," I said. "I'm never going to date. I'm going to die a crazy old lady. I can't even be a crazy cat lady because I'll disappear for months at a time and I won't be able to feed my cats and they'll either run away or die." Another huge bite of ice cream. "Isnmph that samph?"

"I have no idea what you just said, Honey," said Nick. "If it makes you feel any better, I went to see Joanna."

I swallowed "How does that make me feel better?"

"She has a new boyfriend."

"Oh."

"Apparently, she didn't want to wait around on a boyfriend who had been missing for six months," said Nick. He leaned back against the couch. "Whatever. I should have expected as much."

"I told you. Joanna is a beotch. The sooner she is out of your life, the better. I would say Middle Earth was a good experience for you—it has freed you from her evil clutches."

"Way to be sympathetic."

"Think of a giant vulture—or a harpy. That's what they're called, right? Those evil women with wings? Harpies. Okay, Joanna is a harpy. She's perched up in her loft, watching you, waiting for you to fall, so she can fly down and pick the flesh off your bones with her sharp teeth." I mimed the motion with my hands.

"You look ridiculous," said Nick. 'Even more ridiculous than usual. And that's saying something."

"Meh. I'm used to it. I have accepted my condition. Or, as Faramir would call it, my affliction."

"Faramir?"

"He's a friend from Middle Earth," I said. "That's part of why my life sucks."

"He makes your life suck? How? Should I beat him up?"

I snorted. "As if you could. He's Boromir's brother."

"Okay. So then, why does your life suck?"

"I ran into Faramir during my Skip." I took a deep breath. "Boromir died."

"Oh."

"But it's okay," I said. "Because I can bring him back."

Nick frowned. "Anan, you Skip from one world to the other. You're not a necromancer, you're just a, a, a Skipper."

"I've done it before," I said. "I saved the Fellowship when they died in the Gap of Rohan."

"Well, yeah," said Nick. "That was good. But, but should you really have such a say over life and death?"

"It's not a say," I said. "I'm not stopping him from dying, I'm simply changing what's going to happen."

"Isn't that the same thing?'

"No. Stopping him from dying would be like me making him an immortal vampire so that the orcs can't kill him. Actually—can I do that? Do you know any vampires? That might save me a lot of trouble…"

"Your plans get weirder by the second."

"I'm just saying," I said. "Immortality makes my job easier."

There was a pause and we both took huge bites of ice cream.

I swallowed and said, "You know what's missing? Bonnie."

Nick laughed. "Man, I miss that crazy girl. She'd be yelling at us—why didn't she get any ice cream? Her life sucks to. She doesn't know how, but there's some aspect of her life that sucks, so she deserves some ice cream."

"That sounds like Bonnie," I said.

Nick sighed. "She's still in Middle Earth, huh?"

"Yeah." I dug a hole in the middle of my ice cream pint with my spoon. "But I'll get her back. You know I will. She's probably no hanging out with goblins like you are. Knowing Bonnie she's in Hobbiton somewhere driving all the little people crazy."

"They'll kick her out of the Shire."

"That'd be hilarious."

We both laughed at the idea. Then, another heavy silence settled about us and we filled it by eating massive portions of ice cream.

"Well," said Nick, finishing off his pint. "We've established that both our lives suck. We have ice cream. You want to know what's left to do?"

"Coffee?" I asked.

Nick considered this. "That's not what I was thinking of, but let's add it to the list. I was thinking romantic comedy marathon."

"Totally up for it," I said. "I'll make the coffee, you set up the movies."

We watched romantic comedies until five in the morning. I regret nothing. It's one of the emotional remedy things. Like when you sit on the red sofas in a psychiatrist's office and talk about al your problems. Accept we were sitting on my navy blue sofa. And there wasn't a psychiatrist. Just romantic comedies with hot guys and pretty women. (So both Nick and I were happy). We fell asleep on the couch and woke up some time the next afternoon.

* * *

A whole week passed without any Skipping incidents. (I know, I was impressed too.) But, of course, a week was too good to last. The next Monday, I was standing in line at Caribou Coffee, when—Skip—I went to Middle Earth. It was probably a little awkward to the people standing behind me. They blinked and I was gone. Oh well, knowing them, they managed to work it out to be some trick of the eye. That's what my English teacher in junior year always managed to work it out to. I sat by the window each class so when I Skipped one day, she insisted I had jumped out of the window and escaped. The school board didn't really believe her since her classroom was on the third floor.

So, anyway, I'm getting off topic again. I Skipped to a grassy field. It was bare for the most part with browning grass. Great. I had ended up in the middle of nowhere again.

I frowned. The fields looked oddly familiar. On one side there was great river over which there lay a stone city in ruins. And then—I turned around—there was the great white city of Minas Tirith rested in the mountainside.

I was in Gondor (on Pelennor Fields, to be exact, though I did not know it at the time). Well, alright, if the timing was right, I might run into Boromir and I can warn him of his impending death.

Sometime moved in the distance and I squinted at Minas Tirith. The outer eall was…moving? No. The gates were opening, letting a solitary white horse out onto the fields.

I frowned. Was the horse coming for me? Surely not. I'd just shown up and it wasn't like I was doing anything threatening. The white horse and its rider were probably just leaving Minas Tirith to go somewhere.

But yet, the white horse was galloping right at me. That was kind of suspicious.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw. I saw what the white horse and rider were aiming for. A group of horses—maybe fifty, maybe a hundred, it was hard to tell—were galloping across the fields, bearing soldiers back to the city of Minas Tirith. And, of course, they were headed right for me. I backed away, my eyes fixed on the riders. I was going to end up run down by horses.

"Skip me back," I said. "Skip me back, Skip me back, Skip be back, Skip me back."

Nothing. Not even a twitch.

The horses were drawing closer.

And then, the nazgul appeared. Black riders on giant, black beasts with wings. The creatures were sort of like dragons, but they were much, much smaller than Smaug and their necks and heads were more like those of a snake than of a dragon. The nazgul rode on the backs of the flying beasts. At their command, the beasts swooped down and atacked the fleeing soldiers. They clawed the horses and hurled men across the field, leaving a wake of broke bodies behind them.

"Skip me back skip me back skip me back skip me back," I said, starting run backwards, away from the soldiers and nazgul. "I don't want to die! Skip me back!"

A bright light shone from behind me. The nazgul and their fellbeasts screamed and pulled away from the white light. I spun around and saw that horse was only a little ways behind me, galloping at full speed towards the fleeing soldiers. The horse bore not one, but two riders—an old man dressed entirely in white who held a glowing staff above his head and a little child, no, a hobbit, dressed in black armor. Gandalf and Pippin.

I opened my mouth to call out to them when—oof—something grabbed me from behind and lifted me from the ground.

I wrenched my eyes shut and screamed at the top of my lungs. "Don't kill me! Don't kill me! I'm innocent! Please don't kill me!"

I was thrown onto something round and soft—except for the rough wooden thing that stuck into my stomach. Wind rushed through my hair, blowing it in all directions. Trembling, I opened my eyes and saw that I had been thrown across a horse's back. My legs dangled on one side of the horses and my head dangled off the other. I could see the horses legs moving, beating against the ground as it ran. The grass flew by in a blur, each path far behind me in the blink of an eye.

"I'm pretty sure this is not safe!" I wailed.

"That is not the primary concern right now."

I glanced up and saw that the rider behind me was Faramir. His eyes were narrowed with focus as his horse raced across the fields towards Minas Tirith.

"Hey!" I said. "Long time no see!"

Faramir ignored me.

"So," I said. "What brings you here?"

"I am a little busy at the moment," said Faramir.

He pulled his horse's reigns and the creature veered to the right—just before a nazgul's fellbeast came swooping down and picked up the soldier and horse behind us. The fellbeast hurled the rider across the fields. He slammed into another rider and both went crashing down. Free-pickings for the fellbeasts to feed on.

Needless to say, I screamed.

"Faramir!" I cried, clinging onto the horse for bear life. "Faster! Faster! Faster!"

"I am going as fast as I can!"

"Not fast enough!"

"Why do you not get up and ride the horse yourself?"

"That's just asking for death!" I cried. "I've never ridden a horse on my own in my life!"

"Then stop yelling at me to hurry up! Do you not think I am hurrying already?"

The nazgul came down again and Faramir stooped low on his horse. The nagzul's claws narrowly avoided him and caught hold the rider behind us.

"Why do they fly?" I wailed. "That's not fair! That's not fair! Faramir! Cheat! They're cheating like elves! They aren't allowed to have flying bat things while we only have horses! That's not fair!"

"It is not meant to be fair," said Faramir. "It is war."

The white horse pulled up beside us and I got a good view of Gandalf and Pippin. Gandalf was too focused on maintaining the light coming from his staff to notice me, but Pippin, on the other hand, did. He stared at me for a good long moment, silently mouthing my name. I smiled and waved. Pippin managed a weak smile and waved back.

Overhead, the nazgul tried to attack Gandalf, but the moment they got too close, he would shine the light at them and they would fly away, screeching in agony.

Eventually, we reached the gates of Minas Tirith. The gates were open and we rode straight in. Faramir pulled the horse to a stop right in front of a stone fountain. I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. My arms and legs still hung over either side of the horse.

"Why are you here?" asked Faramir. "I thought you were with Frodo and Sam."

I sighed. "I'm just passing through."

"You should be careful," said Faramir. "My father still has a warrant on your head."

"He does?"

I tried to sit up, but—of course—that failed miserably and I ended up falling off the horse. I landed on the cobblestone street with a painful crunch.

"Ow!" I groaned. "Not a smart move."

"That looked like it hurt," said Faramir, dismounting from his own horse with ease. He looked over his shoulder. "Where is Mithrandir?"

"Whose what?"

"Mithrandir," said Faramir. "The wizard."

"Oh, you mean Gandalf." I glanced around, trying to peer over the back of the horses. They were all taller than me. "Just look for the obnoxiously clean white robe."

"There he is," said Faramir. Leading his horse by the reigns, Faramir maneuvered his way through the crowd to where Gandalf stood, helping Pippin dismount from the white horse.

"Mithrandir," said Faramir. He glanced at Pippin and a frown crossed his face.

Gandalf opened his mouth to respond to Faramir when, suddenly, he caught sight of me. Gandalf sighed. "Not you again."

* * *

**A/N: There you go. I updated twice before school. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take twenty minute nap so I don't fall asleep in class. **

**Please review. It'd be nice to wake up from a nap or come home from school to reviews. Thank you for reading!**


	24. Dwarf Monkeys Going Swinging

**This chapter is dedicated to:**

** Rain Dove, Anime Hottie Lovah, Tridraconeus, She Elf of Hidden Lore, UnlimitedShadow, ASDFGHJKL, Archet, mangaballetgirl, Good boy-chan, Saren-Dipety, SaphiraEragon, Ninja Elf girl, SylphJr, KLWafflezBrony, Scarlet Rosaria, Heart of a Dixon, The White Grim, AlexHide, Wingtip, thorinsmajesticbeard, Bewildered, Lynn-o-chan, Gopher Child, FreeWeirdGirl, Reitzel-chan, ElrondofImladris, Kitty-Wolf-Chan, Claire, Guest, Gazville, Andrea, MelissaKatherine, iBetYouKnowWho, Yummie de Pummie, OffInMyOwnWorld, PayNoAttention, Kipper, 13Nyx13, Casin, AnasEvilReviewer, and anyone else who has reviewed this story that I may have missed. **

**THANK YOU!**

* * *

**XXIV: Dwarf Monkeys Going Swinging**

The four of us moved to a more private setting. We stayed in a chamber of one of the guard houses on the third level of Gondor's city. The chamber was a simply stone room with a roaring fireplace and wooden chairs. Gandalf and Faramir talked about important matters of warfare for a good hour. Neither Pippin nor I truly understood what was going on. Though we tired to listen for a short while, our conversation drifted away into more simple and ordinary topics.

"So what is so great about these monkeys?" asked Pippin.

"They hilarious," I said. "They're all furry and cute. Even the baboons with their blue buts. And the apes with the squished up faces—they're cute. They're so family oriented, it's adorable. If I could die and be reincarnated, I would be reincarnated as a monkey."

"Reincarnated?" said Pippin. "If I were to be reincarnated, I would want to be a hobbit."

"But that's boring!" I cried. Then I paused. "Actually, I changed my mind. I f I were to die and be reincarnated, I would be reincarnated as a dwarf."

"But a hobbit is best," said Pippin.

"Dwarf," I said. "Or I could be a dwarf-monkey hybrid. Is that possible? I don't know, but I'd be majestic and I'd have a tail and ears and I'd be adorable. Can't you see little dwarf Ana swinging from tree to tree with her awesome tail?"

"No…" Pippin shook her head.

I sighed. "You're no fun."

"I just do not understand why you would want to be a dwarf monkey. A hobbit monkey. Maybe—but a dwarf monkey? I do not think they would be very good in trees."

I stared at Pippin for a second and then a huge grin spread across my face. "Of course you're right. Dwarves like mountain and monkeys like trees. It'd be a monkey elf and a hobbit elf, but definitely not a dwarf monkey. This is a problem. I'm split between being reincarnated as one of my two loves."

"A monkey or a dwarf," said Pippin.

I nodded.

"I think that Gimli would be insulted if he knew you placed monkeys on the same level as dwarves."

"Thorin would be insulted too," I said. "But that's because he doesn't know how awesome monkeys are."

"What are you two discussing?" asked Faramir, breaking off his conversation with Gandalf. (Gandalf did not look pleased with this.)

"We're talking about what we would be if we died and were reincarnated," I said. "Pippin would want to still be a hobbit—boring. And I can't decide between being a dwarf or a monkey."

"A monkey?" asked Faramir.

"Adorable creatures that have tails and swing about in trees."

"Are you not afraid of heights?" asked Pippin.

I frowned. "I'm assuming that if I'm reincarnated as a monkey, my fear of heights would go away."

"What if it does not?" asked Faramir. "Will you be a monkey on the ground because the treetops scare you?"

My eyes widened with horror. "A monkey afraid of heights is not a monkey at all!"

"You had better be a dwarf," said Faramir.

I nodded. "Good point. Alright, and what would you be reincarnated as, Faramir?"

"Me?" Faramir frowned thoughtfully. "Perhaps a horse. Or a white tree. I think I would like to be a white tree with white blossoms…"

"Oh my God, Faramir!" I cried. "Quit being so gallant—it's kind of ridiculous." Before Faramir could answer, I turned to Gandalf. "And what would you be?"

"Me? I have already died and been reincarnated," said Gandalf. "Once was enough."

"Ah, show off," I said. "Just because you'll actually get to reincarnate. Let the rest of us dream, okay?"

"Only you want to be reincarnated," said Faramir. "I am quite content where I am."

"You are the one who wants to be a dwarf monkey," said Pippin.

"You have to admit!" I said. "It'd be friggin' awesome!"

There was a knock on the chamber door. We all turned to stare as a soldier dressed in a larger version of the same black uniform as Pippin stepped into the room. He stood up right, trying to make himself seem important. Faramir nodded once and the man seemed to relax a little.

"My lord Denethor desires a meeting with Captain Faramir," said the soldier. "He says the wizard and the hobbit should come as well."

"And what about me?" I asked. "I feel kind of left out."

Faramir sighed. He turned to the soldier and nodded. "We will see my father shortly."

The soldier left, closing the door tightly behind him.

Faramir rolled his eyes at me. "You are a wanted criminal, remember? My father would not invite you."

"But I don't want to be left behind. Besides." I crossed my arms. "Your dad is going to try and bully you again. You need me there to slap him across the face every time he steps out of line—because God knows you won't slap him."

"All the more reason not to bring you," said Faramir, heading for the door.

"I do not know," said Gandalf. "But I think we should bring Ana. She could prove to be most amusing."

I grinned at Gandalf. "You just want to see Denethor try and arrest me."

"What?" Gandalf smiled. "Why would I ever want that?"

We rode horses up to the top of Minas Tirith where the throne room was located. Well, technically, Gandalf and Faramir rode the horses; Pippin and I just sat behind them and enjoyed the ride. The throne room was located at the top of the white city. There was a vast courtyard, the center of which contained a dead, white tree. Faramir and Gandalf spared only a glance for the tree before they marched up the stone steps and into the hall where Denethor had taken up residence. Pippin and I, however, stared at the tree in awe as we followed the others.

The hall inside the Tower of Ecthelion (also known as the Tower of Denethor, hm—I wonder who to narcissist is?) was grand. It was made of black and white marble with pillars supporting the arching ceiling. A black throne rested at the far end of the hall, given a place of honor. Guards clad in black stood beside the throne, prepared to protect their steward. A man, dressed in expensive furs, was draped across the throne, his head bent in mourning and his gray hair falling over his face.

"Father," said Faramir. "You wished to see me?"

Denethor lifted his gaze. He looked heartbroken. His withered hands clutched the broken horn that Boromir always kept with him. Tears glistened in the corner of his eyes and his face sagged with sorrow. For a second, I pitied the man.

"You are a disgrace to the memory of your brother."

And with that, all my pity disappeared.

"His courageous deeds won back Osgiliath from Sauron. He swore never to let our beautiful city fall into the hands of the Enemy again. Yet you now have the nerve to abandon it."

"Osgiliath is over run," said Faramir.

"We should not abandon the outer defenses so lightly," said Denethor. "We should fight back. You let the Enemy think us weak. We should not have it so."

"If we were to attack Osgiliath now," said Faramir. "We would fail. We would fall upon them like water upon rock. Then, they would know us to be weak."

"_You_ may be water on rock," said Denethor. "But Boromir was not. Boromir would do his father's bidding. Boromir would regain Osgiliath. Though he would not have lost it in the first place."

Faramir took a deep breath. "Osgiliath is overrun. Not even Boromir—"

"Do not speak of your brother that way!" Denethor clutched the cloven horn.

"I do not mean Boromir any disrespect," said Faramir. "I am only stating the truth."

Denethor released a trembling breath. "Is there a captain here who will still do his lord's wishes? Or should I find someone else?"

Faramir did not respond for a second. I hoped—I really hoped—that he was about to tell his father just where to put that shit he was spewing out of his mouth. But Faramir only nodded and said, "Of course, Father. We will depart before the afternoon." He paused. "If I should return, think better of me, Father."

Denethor snorted. "That would depend on the _manner_ of your return."

"This family is so messed up!" I cried.

Everyone turned to stare at me. I could recognize similar emotions in Gandalf and Pippin's eyes (though neither one of them said it aloud). Denethor glowered at me, his gray brows knitted together. Faramir did not look at me, but kept his eyes fixated on the marble floor.

"I mean _really_," I said. "I love Boromir too, Denethor—but you have another son! Show him some love some times! Pat him on the back and give him a hug! Hug him! It makes me sad just looking at you! Hug him, damn it! Hug him!"

Denethor's eyes narrowed. "You."

I swear, I slapped my hand against my forehead and sighed. "Really? Really? That's all you got out of this?"

"I must leave." Faramir turned around and walked away.

"Hey! Wait!" I cried. "Your dad still has to give you a hug!"

Faramir glanced over his shoulder at me. "Ana. Stop." He left the hall, leaving Gandalf, Pippin, Denethor, and me to stare at the doors.

"That boy has always been that way," said Denethor. "Weak."

"He's not weak!" I cried. (I probably would have slapped Denethor if Gandalf had not caught me by the back of my shirt and held me back). "He just wants to be loved!"

"You wished to speak with us as well," said Gandalf, still holding me back.

"Mithrandir," said Denethor. "I know why you are here."

"Do you now," said Gandalf. "Please, enlighten me."

Denethor leaned forward on his throne and leered at Gandalf. "You seek to supplant me. You bring a Ranger from the north, calling him the lost king of Gondor. We know, we know that line was broken. You bring this imposter, hoping to control my lands—but I see through you. I see right through you, Mithrandir. First, you take Boromir from me, and now you seek to take Minas Tirith from me. Well, I will not yield. Gondor is mine. No other's."

"You're crazy," I said. I turned to Gandalf. "He's crazy."

"Silence," said Gandalf. (Secretly, he agreed with me.) He addressed Denethor next. "I have no desire for the throne of Gondor except to return it to the rightful king. Your family had cared for the throne for years, but now the true owner has come forth and you must surrender it."

"I will not bow to some Ranger from the north. The last of a ragged house long forgotten."

"It is not for you to deny the return of the king!"

"Oh," I muttered to Pippin. "This is getting intense. My money's on Gandalf to win."

"I do not think we should bet on this," said Pippin.

I grinned. "You just don't want to bet against Gandalf."

Denethor caught sight of me. His entire body was quivering with rage. He lifted his right hand and pointed a long, boney finger at me. "You. You should be in prison, rotting away in the depths of Minas Tirith where your wretched face may never be seen again!"

"Me?" I squeaked. "That's a little harsh…I mean, sure, I insulted you—but rotting in prison? Can I just mildew a little and then go free?"

"Guards!" roared Denethor. "Guards! Seize her! Throw her behind bars so I might never bear her insults again!"

The guards stepped forward, their swords drawn. Their eyes were fixed on me. I backed away slightly.

"You know," I said. "This isn't really necessary. I won't do it again, promise. You should really arrest Gandalf instead. He's the troublemaker instead of me. Did you not hear him? He wants to get you off that throne of yours. I think it's a very nice throne. You look good on it. I have no problem with you sitting on that throne. Really. So you should just let me go. I'll run through the streets of Gondor praising your splendor. I can be really flattering when I want to. On the other hand, Gandalf is real troublemaker. Throw him in jail! Not me! Not me!"

The guards kept coming.

"This is the part where you run," said Gandalf.

"You're enjoying this, aren'

t you?" I cried.

He smiled. "Just a little, _Senturiel_."

I screamed and sprinted out of the hall. The doors did not even slam behind me as the guards kicked it open and chased after me. I sprinted across the courtyard, my feet slamming against the stone pavement.

"Wah!" I cried. "Wah! Wah! Waaaaaaaaaah!"

I tried to sprint down the stairs to the next level of the city, but the guards cut me off. I sprinted to the other side, but the guards were slowly closing in on me. I ran in the only direction I could—towards the edge of the courtyard.

The courtyard had a long pointy end that jutted out towards Pelennor Fields, cutting the city in half. I sprinted to the end of the courtyard and screeched to a halt. There was a gap in the railing, looking out at the city of Minas Tirith—thousands of feet below.

"Oh God!" I cried. I spun around and found myself face to face with dozens of guards, their swords drawn and pointed directly at me.

"You cannot escape," said Denethor, standing behind his guards. "Surrender now."

"Can I get away from the ledge before we have this stand off?" I asked. "I'm afraid of heights."

"Ha!" said Denethor. "As if I would believe such an obvious lie."

"No, really," I said. I tried not to glance over my shoulder at the ground that so, so, so far down. "Boromir had to piggyback me up a tree once because I was too afraid to climb myself."

"Do not dare speak his name!" cried Denethor.

"Man,' I said. "Boromir was my bro. Don't you try to get all up in our relationship."

"She speaks so strangely," said one of the soldiers. "Whatever could she means?"

I stared at the sharp sword reproachfully. I was going to have to do it, wasn't I?

"I _mean_," I said. "That Boromir and I were good friends. He would be mortified so see his father treat me so poorly." I took a step backwards. My heels touched the edge of the stone. Nothing but air was behind me.

"Lies," said Denethor. "You cannot escape. Surrender now."

"But she can," said Gandalf.

"You," I said. "This was your plan all along. You and your stupid magic rock!"

Gandalf look at me, his gray eyes flickered, but other than that he showed no emotion. Damn that wizard and his incredible poker face.

"Seize her!" cried Denethor.

I jumped. Off the edge of the cliff.

Down, down, down. The wind whistled through my hair.

Down, down, down. Denethor, Gandalf, the guards. They all fell away. Or I fell away.

Down, down, down. Skip.

"Ow," I groaned and rubbed the back of my head.

"Are you alright?"

I opened my eyes and saw a Caribou Coffee employee holding his hand out to me. I took it gratefully and he helped me to my feet.

"You, um, had a nasty fall, I think," he said, stammering.

"I trip a lot," I said. "One moment, no one realizes I'm there and then—wham—I hit my head and suddenly I'm the center of attention, you know?" I grinned at him.

"Um, yeah…" The employee hesitated. "Can I get you anything? Ice? Something for the head?"

"Latte," I said instantly. "The hotter the better."

* * *

**A/N: And now I have to go do homework... Please review! For the sake of the dwarf monkeys! Review!**


	25. We All Need Some Majestic Therapy

**XXV: We All Need Some Majestic Therapy**

"Hi."

That had to be one of the most awkward things I had ever done. And I've had some big ones.

After a week of walking the other way whenever Jack came into my life of sight, I finally worked up the nerve to talk to him. I had been leaving my apartment to go look for work, when I saw Jack across the hall. He had just finished locking his apartment. He pulled the key out of the lock and placed it in his jacket pocket, taking his sweet time. When he was done, Jack looked at me. He did not smile. "Hi."

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Fine."

"Look," I said, stepping forward. "It was a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" asked Jack. "You ditched me in the movie theater. What's there to misunderstand about that? You teleported out of the movie theater and left me sitting there like an idiot. What's to misunderstand?"

"Yeah," I said. "I knew you'd be angry. But you've got to understand, I don't have any control over my, um, teleporting."

"Oh sure," said Jack. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yes?"

Jack snorted. "I'm going.

"Wait!" I stepped forward, coming between him and the stairs down. "Listen to me. I really don't teleport at my own will. I didn't mean to, um, teleport in the movie theater—it just happened. I tried to get back as soon as possible, but I couldn't, um, teleport back at my own will. I really liked going on a date with you!"

"Tell it to someone who cares," said Jack. He pushed past me and bounded down the stairs, taking too steps at a time.

"You were perfectly willing to believe that I was an elf!" I shouted after him.

* * *

Nick's voice cracked through the phone. "You know that's not safe."

"I'll be fine," I said. "See you."

I hung up and thrust my cell phone into the pocket of my jacket. I continued walking down the path. It was somewhere in the earlier hours of the morning. The sky was pitch black. No stars were visible, shrouded by thin clouds. The only light came from the dim orange glow of lamps along the park path. There was no one else around.

I took a deep breath. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep all week. Every time I put down my head to rest, my eyes would not close. The same thoughts kept running over and over and over again in my mind. The flash of an orc blade. The whistle of an arrow. A cry of pain. Blood everywhere. A body in a boat.

Eventually, I had given up trying to sleep and I went for a walk. The park was so quiet. I needed quiet. My life was so loud.

An arrow. A sword. Blood. So much blood. How would he die? An axe? A sword? An arrow? Or some way worse?

Don't think about it. I was going to save him. He wasn't going to die.

Think about this world. Your world. You need a job. Not happening any time soon. How are you going to afford your apartment? Ask parents for more money. What will they say? You said you'd get a job. Get a job. No one will hire you.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I checked the caller ID. Nick. He probably wanted to make sure I was still alive. I put the phone back in my pocket without answering. No need to worry. I f I got into any trouble, I would just Skip away. The joys of my life.

"What are you doing here?"

I screamed.

"Hold on, hold on, Miss."

I spun around and found myself face to face with—a cop. Did I scare you for a second? Okay, okay, don't give me that face. It was kind of obvious. But I was scared to death at the time. I really thought I was about to be killed…or worse.

"You scared me," I said.

"You shouldn't be out so late," said the police officer, frowning. "This park is closed after ten."

"Really? I didn't know." (Lying has always been a special talent of mine.)

The officer surveyed me in the glow of the orange lamplight. "What's your name?"

Without missing a beat, I said, "My name is Ana."

"Where are you from?"

"Erebor."

"Why are you in the park at night?"

"I'm on a quest to reclaim my home."

The cop squinted at me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Are you mocking me?"

I smiled. "The monkeys are laughing at you." And then I turned around and _ran_.

The cop turned bright red and then turned a delectable shade of violet. For a second, I thought he was going to puke. Then, he started chasing after me, letting out a stream of curses.

I ran through the park, at first sticking to the path, but then diverging and sprinting through the grass. I ran up onto a red bridge that crossed a dark, murky pond. I stopped halfway across the bridge.

The officer was still sprinting after me. He came to a stop at the end of the bridge, huffing and puffing a little.

"Stop," said the officer. "It's dangerous to be out so late. You should go home. And watch your mouth next time."

I smiled. I gripped the wooden railing of the bridge and lifted myself up to sit on it. The officer watched as I placed my feet on the railing and carefully moved to a standing position. God, it was high up there. The bridge and the pond. There was good distance between the water and the bridge.

"Get down!" cried the officer, taking a step onto the bridge.

I laughed. "You said—go home."

"What?"

"By the way," I said. "I apologize on behalf of the monkeys. They didn't mean to laugh at you."

I jumped backwards off the bridge.

Skip.

* * *

The back of my head slammed on the gravel ground. I lay there for a moment, wondering if jumping off a bridge had been a bad idea after all. I opened my eyes. It was dark. Not as dark as the park, but dark enough. The only light came from a flickering torch just outside the cell doors. I sat up and blinked. Cell?

"You Skipped at a bad time, Ana."

I looked over my shoulder and Thorin sat in the far corner of the cell, chains around his ankles and wrists. (Still majestic.)

"Did they finally arrest you?" I asked.

"If you refer to the elves of Mirkwood, then yes."

"Oh," I said, trying to fight back a grin. "Arrested by elves. That's a new low, even for you."

Thorin glared at me.

"I'm just saying," I said. "I had higher expectations of you."

The glare did not cease.

I stared back at Thorin. He sat there, in the heavy black chains, his blue eyes fixed on me.

And suddenly, I was crying. Fat tears dribbled down my face and dripped down to the gravel floor.

Thorin stopped glaring. He blinked. He frowned. He opened his mouth. He closed it again. He glared. He stopped glaring. He blinked again. "Why are you crying?"

"Why do you think I'm crying!?" I said. I wiped some tears off my cheek with the back of my right hand. I sniffled. The tears would not stop.

"Because you are in awe of my majesty," said Thorin. (He seemed pretty clueless right then.)

"No. Though that would be a good reason to cry." I wiped my nose with my sleeve. "My life sucks. My best friend in Middle Earth is going to die and I need to save him and to do that I need to meet him before he does and tell him what's going to happen but there's no guarantee that I'll see him before he dies and I don't want to see him die. And what if I can't save him? What then? I don't handle tragedy very well in case you haven't noticed! And then, and then, and then Bonnie is still missing. I managed to find Nick but who knows where Bonnie is. She could be dead. I could have brought her to her death and no one will know what happened to her because she's gone and dead. And it's all my fault. And, and, and, my dating life sucks. I can barely keep a normal friendship let alone date a guy. And Jack was yelling at me and he wouldn't believe my explanation. He was perfectly willing to believe I was an elf or a fairy—but no. When it comes t the fact that I Skip, he thinks I'm lying. What kind of guy is like that? What kind of guy? What kind of guy? My parents won't get off my back. I can't get a job because I disappear to Middle Earth too often and miss work. My parents don't know this and they want me to find a job, but I can't. I can't ask them for more money. Who's going to pay for my apartment? What am I going to do? Oh my God! I just told a cop my home was Erebor. Isn't that friggin' insane. I don't even know where I belong anymore. I'm from Ohio—right? So why do I spend so much time in Middle Earth? Maybe I just don't belong anywhere. Maybe I'm just drift everywhere. Like a leaf in the wind. Or maybe I just don't exist at all. I don't know. I don't want this. I want to go home. But instead I'm sitting here in a cell with you and I don't even like elves. And you know what? You know what the worst part is? I just found out that Taco Bell sells coffee. Taco Bell, for Gods sake! I'm afraid they'd put chili powder in my coffee or something. It just sounds gross. Who would do that kind of thing? Who would!?"

Thorin stared at me.

I sniffled. My throat was burning and I coughed—a deep, hacking sound. Snot and tears dribbled down my chin. I tried to wipe it off with the back of my hand. "Stupid Taco Bell, making me cry."

There came the sound of chains clanking together as Thorin shuffled across the cell. Then, I felt a heavy hand tapping me on the shoulder. I looked up and saw Thorin's wide-eyed expression (I think he was running on autopilot still) as he patted me on the back.

"Thanks," I said.

He stopped patting my shoulder and sat back down. He watched me for a moment and then said, "You are really ugly."

"You're not supposed to say that to a crying woman."

"I am just telling the truth," said Thorin. "You look uglier than usual."

"Why do I talk to you?"

"Because I am majestic."

I managed a weak smile. "That's right."

"At least," said Thorin. "You were not captured by the people you despise most in the world, interrogated, and thrown into a prison cell by them."

"Yeah, but I bet you were great when they interrogated you."

"I probably irritated Thranduil to no end," said Thorin, nodding. "He kept inquiring as to why my dwarves were wandering about the woods and I kept replying that we were starving. Apparently, he did not believe that dwarves could starve because he continued at ask why we were in the woods."

"Because you were starving," I said. "Wow. Thranduil seems like a dense elf."

"Are not all elves dense?"

"Well, true," I said. "But Thranduil seems denser than the normal elves. And not all elves are dense. Elrond was rather clever. But Thranduil is definitely dense. Or maybe he's just plain stupid. Mirkwood elves are pretty stupid. He's probably the stupidest elf that ever lived. He's king of the stupid elves."

"His stupidity could be rivaled by that of his son," said Thorin. "That blond elf that pranced around with a bow and arrow."

"Legolas," I said, nodding. "Legolas is the prince of the stupid elves. He prances around with that bow and arrow all the time and he's like—look at me, look at me, aren't I pretty? Aren't elves awesome? We just got chased across the country by wargs and almost destroyed by a balrog, but my hair is still blond and in perfect condition, aren't I cool? And the rest of us are sitting there—dirty and tired—and we're like—Legolas, your hair is stupid and it makes you look like a cheap party trick."

Thorin laughed. (Yes, as hard as it is to believe, I actually managed to make Thorin laugh. Though, I think it doesn't matter who said it, he just liked to laugh at elves.)

"You stopped crying," said Thorin, suddenly.

I paused and then grinned. "Yeah, I did. That was a load to get off my chest. I think the majestic therapy session helped."

"Majestic therapy?"

I nodded. "You know what would help even more?"

"I do not want to know."

"If you sang to me."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"You can start a new business as a musical therapist. Someone can come into your office after having a really, really, really bad week and you can sing to them in your deep voice and all their problems will just drift away…"

"No."

"You enjoy crushing my hopes and dreams, don't you?"

"Yes."

There was a clink.

Both Thorin and I turned to the door of the prison cell, our eyes wide with shock. Was a guard coming to check on Thorin? He would see me. What was I doing in a cell with the dwarf king? Well, there's a perfectly logical explanation to that…

The door creaked open.

"Thorin!" cried Ori, sticking his head through the keyhole.

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. "Keep your voice down, Ori. We do not wish to be overheard." Thorin got to his feet and held out his chained arms. Bilbo slipped into the prison cell and revealed a little black key, which he used to open the irons that bound Thorin.

I remained seat on the ground, staring at the whole scene in shock.

"Ana," said Kili. "What are you doing here?"

"I Skipped," I said. I turned to Thorin. "You knew about the escape plan?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't tell me!?"

Thorin shrugged and massaged his red wrists. "I did not know how long you would be here." He stepped outside the prison cell. "Are you coming? Or would you rather remain locked up?"

I jumped to my feet and hurried after Thorin. As I stepped outside the cell, I saw that all thirteen dwarves had gathered. Apparently Thorin had not been the only one captured by the Mirkwood elves. Bilbo (the hobbit had proven to be quite the successful burglar) led the way through a series of underground tunnels. He had some destination in mind, but it seemed the dwarves did not know where he was leading them. Thankfully, the Mirkwood elves parties hard. Bilbo had waited until they were all unconscious from their endless drinking before freeing the dwarves.

"Disappointed," I said, shaking my head. "I expected better of you guys. Getting arrested by mere elves."

"It is not our fault," said Kili. "We were hungry and starving in the forest and we had been attacked by spiders."

"Spiders?" I asked, my voice going up an octave.

Kili nodded. "Huge spiders with agonizing poison in their pincers."

I shuddered. "First spiders and then elves, you poor dwarves have had a rough ride."

"You do not like spiders?" asked Gloin, a wide smile forming under his red beard.

I eyed Gloin suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

"I am not thinking anything," said Gloin.

"He is quite empty headed," said Oin. He whacked his brother on the side of the head. "Did you hear that hollow sound?"

I laughed.

"Could you possibly be louder?" asked Thorin irritably.

I stuck my tongue out at his back. I think he could somehow sense it, because he shot me a venomous glare over his shoulder. I smiled and waved back.

"Why are you eyes pink?" asked Bofur. "Are your eyes dry?"

"Er." I lifted a hand to touch my puffy eyes. (Curse the side affects of crying! ) "It's Thorin's fault."

All the dwarves turned to Thorin.

"You made Ana's eyes pink," said Nori.

"That was not very nice," said Ori.

"She looks even uglier than usual now," said Bifur.

"Why do dwarves like calling me ugly?" I asked. "I'm not _that_ bad looking!"

Bilbo led us down a sharp turn and then to a wooden dock. The dock was built over an underground river. There were a few boats tied to the dock and a dozen or so barrels stacked near the entryway.

"What are we doing here?" asked Thorin.

"This is the way out," said Bilbo.

"Do you expect us to swim?" asked Fili.

"Oh no," said Balin. "Dwarves are not made for swimming."

"And neither are hobbits," said Bilbo. "But you will not be swimming out. You will each get inside a barrel and I will seal you inside. Then, when the elves throw the supposedly empty barrels in the river, we will float down stream and be free from the elves."

"How do you know what they do with the barrels?" I asked.

Bilbo smiled. "I have spent a lot of time observing the Mirkwood elves and forming this escape plan."

"Observing the Mirkwood elves?" I shook my head. "You poor hobbit. There are such better things to do with your time."

The dwarves muttered their agreement.

"Hurry," said Bilbo. "This is the only way out and the elves will be arriving soon to throw out the barrels."

"We will be broken, bruised, and battered to pieces," said Dori.

"This is mad!" said Balin.

"Very well," said Bilbo. "I still have the keys. You all can hop back into your cells and I will lock you in. No one needs know that you tried to escape."

The dwarves exchanged nervous glances.

"Owned," I said, wagging my finger at them. (Cue glare from Thorin.)

"It is not all that bad," said Fili suddenly. He walked towards the closest barrel and popped off the lid. "I can certainly fit in here. It looks kind of spacious. Perhaps I shall keep the barrel and make it into my new home. What do you think, Kili?"

Kili popped the lid off another barrel. He grinned and hopped inside, settling down for a comfortable fit in the barrel. "Rather snug!"

"They are small," said Dwalin. "Of course they would fit inside the barrels with ease."

"Yes," said Bombur. "What about us large dwarves?"

"Don't be a baby," I said. I bounded after Fili and Kili and found and nice barrel my size. I hopped inside, pulling my knees up to my chest. "It's roomy in here. Bilbo, lid me up!"

"I will not do it," said Balin, stubbornly.

Grumbling under his breath, Thorin picked out a barrel and sat inside it. I could not see him over the top of my own barrel, but I could image his grouchy, scowling face.

"Come on," said Thorin. "They are not as uncomfortable as you make them sound."

Soon, all the dwarves had crawled into their barrels. Bilbo placed the lids on the barrels, putting us in tightly. Then, he found his own barrel and managed to shut himself in. I sat inside my barrel, my knees were pulled up to my chest and my head was just brushing against the lid of the barrel. To be honest, it was far from comfortable. But, like Kili, Fili, and Thorin, I had to lie to get the other dwarves into the barrels. I don't know how long we sat there before the sound of elves filled the room.

"Where is old Galion, the butler? I have not seen him at the tables tonight. He ought to be here by now to show us how it is done."

"Ah ha! Here he is. With his head on a jog. He has been sleeping the drink."

"Wake him up. I still have a few more drinks with my name on them."

There was a pause and then a grumbling noise. A sleeping voice filled the room (Galion). "You are all late. Enjoying the festivities a little too much, I would say. You forgot your duties and left me to wait. Small wonder I fell asleep."

The other elves laughed and made jokes at Galion's expensive. But he only grunted at them to get to work. And with that, the barrel tossing began.

I do not know whose barrel they tossed first, but through a peephole in the side of the barrel, I could see as one-by-one the barrels were hurled into the river and the waters swept the barrels (and the dwarves they contained) away. Mine was one of the last to be hurled into the river. All I felt was air and then—splash—a rickety ride on the swaying river.

Water came in through the peephole. For a moment, I panicked. I thought my barrel was going to fill up with water and I was going to sink to the bottom of the river, trapped inside my barrel. I did what any other desperate person would do. I pushed the lid off my barrel and pulled my head out, gasping for air. The barrel flipped over, dunking me head first in the water. I coughed and spluttered and clung onto the barrel for dear life.

"Do you need some help, lassie?"

I looked up to see Balin, sitting in his barrel. His lid was off and the top half of his body was out of the barrel, bobbing up and down as if he was on a little cruising.

"Show off," I muttered.

"Who is a show-off?" asked Fili.

I turned around to see that he too was sitting upright in his barrel, completely at ease. In fact, looking around the river, I saw Thorin, Dwalin, Bombur, Bifur, Bofur, Oin, Gloin, Dori, Nori, Ori, and Bilbo all sitting upright in their barrels, enjoying the peaceful float downstream.

I groaned. "Was I the only one who fell out of the barrel?"

"No," said Fili. "Kili fell out too. Only he refuses any help getting back in."

Fili pointed back upstream where I saw Kili floating in the water, trying to push himself back up into the barrel, but every time he got close to sitting into the barrel, the thing capsized, dumping him back into the water.

I groaned a whacked my head against the side of the wooden barrel. "I'm on the same level as Kili…"

"Look out," said Thorin. "There are rapids coming." He glanced at me. "With sharp rocks."

"Sharp rocks?" I squeaked. I clung desperately to my barrel. I tried to hoist myself up onto it or into it—I wasn't really sure which—but the barrel rolled over and dumped me head first into the water.

I bopped back up, treading water as I floated downstream. The dwarves guffawed at my pitiful attempt. I looked around, and realized that my barrel had floated far away from me. Along the water line, I could see the white tips of the rapids and the tops of the jagged rocks.

I screamed. "Not the rocks! Not the rocks! I don't want to be sliced and diced open like some sort of meat in the butchers shop!"

I swam for the barrel of the dwarf closest to me (Dwalin) and clung on for deal life.

"Get off!" he cried, trying to push me away before I knocked over his barrel too.

Too late.

We a huge splash, we both landed in the water.

"I cannot swim!" cried Dwalin, trying to grab hold of his barrel.

"I'm gonna die!" I wailed. "I'm to young to die!"

"You are not going to die," said Dwalin. He grabbed me by the shirt collar and hurled my across the river towards Oin. "Go bother someone else."

I slammed into Oin's barrel and toppled it over. Oin joined Dwalin and I for a dip in the river. Oin cried out at the cold water enveloped him.

"No! No!" cried Oin, clinging to his barrel and trying—and failing—to jump into it. "I will drown! I will drown!"

"So will I!" I cried.

We hit the rapid and, almost instantly, Oin's barrel his a sharp rock and shattered. We both screamed as a life buoy disappeared.

"Help!" I cried, flailing my arms around. "We're gonna drown! We're gonna down! I don't want to drown!"

I grabbed onto Dori's barriel while Oin pulled Gloin down into the water with him. It was like chain reaction. Gloin and Oin grabbed onto Nori's barrel and stood Nori landed in the water with us. Dori and I clung to Balin's barrel and ended up tearing the thing in two. Ori was so panicked by what was going on that he screamed and fell backwards, loosing his barrel to the rapids. Screaming for help, I latched onto the bottom of Thorin's barrel while the rest of the dwarves swarmed around Bilbo and Fili. Thorin tried to push me out of the way, but I clung on tight and ended up pulling him right out of the barrel. Soon, all of the barrels we smashed to bits or lost in the rapids. The dwarves, Bilbo, and I cling together, screaming for dear life as we sailed through the rapids.

"Look out for that rock!"

"Tree branch! Tree branch!"

"A fish bit me!"

"Rock!"

"I think it took a toe off!"

Water sprayed in everyone's faces and we screamed until our voices broke. (Except Thorin, he took the rapid like the majestic dwarf he was). You'll be happy to know that we did survive the rapids and we all managed to find a piece of broken barrel to float on. We lay on our little pieces of wood, gasping for air.

"I cannot believe we survived that."

We all turned around to see Kili sitting in his barrel, bobbing up and down with a broad grin on his face.

"Look, uncle," said Kili, still grinning. "Look who's majestic now."

Thorin was looking, but it wasn't at Kili. He was looking behind him where the water sped up and then disappeared from slight entirely.

"Waterfall!"

Kili promptly fell out of his barrel in shock.

The rest of the dwarves tried to swim for shore, but to no avail. I clung to my bit of driftwood and screamed at the top of my lungs as I was pushed closer and closer to the waterfall edge. I looked behind me as all the dwarves watched, dreading their own fate.

"Not like this!" I wailed.

"Shut up," said Thorin. "You'll go over the edge and then Skip to safety."

"No I won't! I'm going to die!"

My driftwood rolled over the edge and down I fell. Down, down, down, down.

And guess what. I Skipped.

Damn Thorin and his habit of being right.

* * *

**A/N: Please review.**


	26. A Gathering Of Slow-Talking Trees

**XXVI: A Gathering of Slow-Talking Trees**

Two months passed. Two months and not a single Skip. I did not dare jump off a building again, the memory of my last adventure (and break down) was still brimming at the edge of my mind. I managed to find a job at Subway and spent my last few days slicing bread and placing ingredients in a specific order on the bread. Very complicated stuff.

My days were pretty ordinary. Get up. Watch morning dramas. Go to work. Make sandwiches. Come home. Watch night dramas. Sleep. Great life. Exactly where I wanted to be twenty-one years into my life.

The only real variation was hanging out with Nick. We'd get coffee or play video games at his place or just plain chat. So one day, Nick and I decided to go bowling. I was on my period and planned to spend the day on the couch with a heating pad and watching stupid TV drama—but since Nick offered to pay, I agreed to go.

Bowling happens to be my strong point. I may fail at everything else in life (climbing trees, fighting, running), but, man, I could bowl like a pro. We were somewhere in our third game and Nick was getting tired of losing,

"Can you mess up just one time?" he asked.

"I have been messing up," I said. "Lots of times."

"A spare does not count as a mess up."

I laughed. "You just need to improve your game. You cannot rival the master of the balls." I paused and then laughed. "Okay, that came out wrong."

"Yeah, yeah. If you say so."

I rolled my eyes and picked up the bowling ball. "So what's going on in your life?"

"New girlfriend," said Nick.

"Who's the cow this time?"

"You really like my girlfriends, huh?"

"Nick, face it. You have _terrible_ taste in women." I rolled the ball towards the pins. I watched it race down the lane and knock over the pins. All but three fell over. "You see," I said, turning back to Nick. "I messed up."

"It's better than my last, uh, three gutter balls."

"Keep your arm straight."

"I just roll the thing down the lane."

My ball came up and I picked it off the rack. I bowled down the lane and—perfect aim—knocked over the remaining three pins.

"Yeah," said Nick. "Totally a mistake."

I shook my head. "I'll have you know, I have never gotten a gutter ball in my life."

"Bullshit," said Nick. "When you were little?"

"Nope. I always managed to knock over at least one pin. I'm not counting the times where I had a split and the ball went between the two of them."

"There's no way that's true."

"It is." I said, taking the seat beside Nick. "So, tell me about this new girlfriend."

"Her name's Karen. She's a real bombshell."

"Ah," I said. "And the true reason you're dating her comes out." I got up from my seat. "I'm going to the bathroom. It's your turn to bowl.'

"Don't remind me," said Nick, heading for the bowling lane.

Have you ever been to the bathroom in those bowling places? It is disgusting. No. Not just disgusting, more like a revolting pit of darkness that all the bathroom nasty. All those terribly bathroom habits that pop up in public bathrooms? They make their epitome in bowling alley bathrooms. There were three stalls in the bathroom. First stall was clogged with yellow-brown water brimming in the toilet. Second stall had toilet paper on the floor and blood on the seat. Third stall, the handicapped stall, had toilet paper on the seat. The choices were great. Is it really that hard for people to be neat in public bathrooms? In our lives, we spend a average of three years on the toilet. You would think in that time some people would figure out how to aim! But no. They still manage to get pee (and blood, apparently) all over the toilet seat. And if you do—have the decency to wipe it off! And I _know_ some snooty people put toilet paper on the seat so they don't have to sit on the same place that other people's bare butts have touched. That's fine. But then throw away the toilet paper when you're done! It's not that hard! (Okay, okay, I'll stop ranting about public bathrooms now.)

I ended up choosing the third stall for my bathroom adventures. I pitched the toilet paper into the toilet. All those times I have been to Middle Earth and was chased by orcs, hunted by balrogs, climbing the trees, and screaming my head off—none of them could compare to the horrors of that bathroom.

"That was a traumatizing experience," I said.

"What happened?" asked Nick.

"Public bathroom."

"Oh. You poor soul. Do you need extensive therapy now?"

"I'll go find Thorin and get him to sing for me. All my worldly problems will just disappear."

"Whatever you say," said Nick.

I stepped up to the bowling lane and picked up the black ball. "How'd you do?"

"Um…"

I looked up at the score board and almost dropped my bowling ball. "Why do I have all gutter balls for the last three frames?"

"What?" asked Nick, looking up innocently.

I turned on him. "Did you just bowl the last three frames for me and give me _gutter balls_?"

Nick smiled. "Maybe."

"You!" I cried. "How dare you mess up my bowling perfection! I was getting spares left and right and then all of sudden—Gutter ball! Gutter ball! Gutter ball! You! I've just had one of the worst experiences of my life, I have cramps, I have a tampon shoved up between my legs, and I just don't feel like dealing with any of bullshit today!"

"You know," said Nick. "I didn't really need to hear that part about the tampon…"

"Live with it!" I said. "It's revenge for messing with my bowling score." I glanced at the scoreboard and then added, "But I'm still winning."

"Don't remind me," said Nick. "I tried so hard to sabotage you, but I still failed miserably."

"I'll have you know," I said, stepping up to the lane to bowl the last frame. "This doesn't ruin my never-had-a-gutter-ball streak."

I rolled the ball down the lane. It struck the pins and—bam—knocked them all over. I turned to Nick and grinned.

"What up?" I asked.

"I hate you," said Nick. He got up and picked out his own ball from the rack. "I'll the bowl the next one for you, okay."

"No, no, no," I said, picking up my bowling ball. "You can't go anywhere near my lane. "Go away! Go away!"

Nick laughed and grabbed my wrist. "I'm going to beat you!"

"You cheated! You elfed! That's just not fair!"

"I what?"

Skip.

"You cheated at bowling! Elves cheat at everything. Elves are cheaters! You cheated, you're an elf! Have you ever been in a drinking game with an elf? They cheat so hard at drinking games. All the dwarves and men and hobbits are unconscious at the floor and then elves are like—oh my God, my fingers tingle, it must be affecting me! And the rest of us are like—go away, you stupid elfers!"

"Um..."

Nick poked me in the side and I stopped ranting about elves. "What?"

"Where are we?"

I hadn't even realized that we had Skipped at that point. I looked to my left and then to my right. This was not the bowling alley. We were in a forest, but not like any forest I had seen before. It had an old, earthy smell to it. The trees were fat and mossy, their roots spreading across the ground, embedded deep into the dirt. The deep green leaves fanned overheard, shrouding the sky from view. There was a density to the forest that Lorien lacked. And an age to the trees that made the golden Lorien look youthful in comparison. I had never been in this forest before. And, as I stared at the trees surrounding me, a forest I was not sure I would ever want to visit again.

"We're in Middle Earth," I said.

"Middle Earth?" asked Nick. "You Skipped."

I nodded. "Sorry, but I can't control it."

"Yeah," said Nick, still staring around at the trees with a sort of breathlessness. "Where in Middle Earth are we?"

"A forest," I said.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Thanks, I didn't know that."

"You're the one who asked."

"So you don't know?"

"I often don't know." I smiled at Nick. "Something I have learned in my life—accept things as they come. If the trees come to life and try to kill us right now, do not be surprised."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Nick. "Trees coming to life?"

"Oh ho? Who is this who has wandered into the forest? Are you orcs? Have you come to destroy our home?"

Nick stiffened and my eyes widened. We turned and saw a massive rowan tree. The creature had leaned forward, his glassy brown eyes blinking as he stared at us. He looked like a tree. If he hadn't spoken, we would not have recognized him as tree. But he had the form almost a tree man, with a head of bark and tree branches for arms and legs.

Nick screamed and tried to cower behind me. "Ana! The trees have come to life! The trees have come to life! They're going to kill us!"

"I was joking! I was joking! I didn't actually want them to come to life! Ah!"

I screamed and tried to hide behind Nick as well. We shuffled awkward, trying to hide behind one another, until we tripped over a tree root and stared up at the talking tree in horror.

"Frantic little orcs, are you not?"

I swear, if trees could smile, that big rowan tree would be grinning at the two of us.

"I have decided," said the tree, speaking in slow and even tones. "That you are not orcs. You do not have any nasty weapons to point at me." He stood back up to his full height. "Hello, little ones, I am Bregalad, but you may call me Quickbeam."

"The tree is talking, Ana," said Nick. "Why is the tree talking?"

"I don't know! Why don't you ask the tree?"

"I am not a tree," said Quickbeam. "I am an Ent."

"What is an Ent?" asked Nick.

"I think it's a talking tree," I said.

"But he says he's not a tree."

"Well, any talking tree would want to distinguish himself from other trees," I said. "That's basically humanity and monkeys. We're practically the same thing—except monkeys are more awesome—but because humans can talk, we're like, we're not monkeys. But in the end, we're primates just like the monkeys."

"Ents are protectors of the trees in the forest," said Quickbeam. "We look after the trees an make sure they grow tall."

"See," said Nick. "They're not trees."

"So they're just the leader of the trees," I said. "But they're still talking trees."

"He just said they weren't trees."

"I still think they're talking trees who gave themselves a name."

Nick groaned. "Think what you want, I give up."

Quickbeam let out a deep, chortling sound. For a moment, I thought he was burping, but then I realized he was laughing, a deep, hearty laugh.

"What brings you past the borders of Fangorn?" asked Quickbeam as his laughter subsided.

"Fangorn?" I asked.

The bark of Quickbeam's face shifted to form a sort of frown on his wooden face. "You do not know Fangorn?"

"We're just passing through," I said. "We don't know where anything is…"

"Fangorn is the name given to this forest," said Quickbeam. "Though that is not the first name given to the forest, it has become the most common name."

"We're in Fangorn Forest?" I asked. I vaguely recall some sort of mention of Fangorn, though I couldn't remember where I had heard it before.

"Yes," said Quickbeam, looking around at the rich, green trees surrounding him. "You are amongst the trees of Fangorn."

"That's, um, cool," I said. I glanced around at the other trees, wondering if any of them were going to start attacking me. "And, um, how do we get out of Fangorn?"

"How do you get out of Fangorn?" asked Quickbeam. "But why would you want to _get out of Fangorn_?"

I opened my mouth and then closed it. Was there realy any point in trying to explain to a talking tree why you would want to leave a forest of trees? Somehow, I didn't think Quickbeam would understand all that well.

"Never mind."

"I have decided you are not orcs," said Quickbeam. "So then, what kind of creature are you? Are you elves? Are you men? Are you dwarves? You are not wizards."

"We're human," I said. "My friend here, Nick, is a man. A thin, bony, and at times girly man, but a man nonetheless. I am a woman. Ana is my name."

"Ana is a pleasant name," said Quickbeam. "So is Nick. They are short. Much short than Entish names."

"Quickbeam isn't too bad," I said.

"Quickbeam is not my name. It is a short term used to refer to me by the other Ents."

"Oh, a nickname," I said. "I have nicknames too. Most of them are unflattering. Shorty. Ugly. Blondie. Beard Defiler. Stupid. Idiot. Moron. Manly she-dwarf. They're numerous."

Quickbeam let out another of his deep, rolling laughs. When his laughing fit came to an end, Quickbeam stood upright and said, "You are most fortunate, little Ana and little Nick. You have arrived in Fangorn in time for the Entmoot."

"The Entmoot?" I asked.

"What is that?" asked Nick.

"It is a gathering," said Quickbeam.

"A gathering of what?" I asked.

"A gather of Ents, stupid," said Nick. "That's why it's called the _Ent_moot."

"I totally knew that," I said. "I was just testing to see if you knew that. Like one of those ninja reflex tests where the doctor taps you knee and then your legs kicks. He knows that your leg is going to kick, but he has to test it anyway, just incase your leg doesn't kick."

"You speak quickly," said Quickbeam. "Faster than even I speak. And I am the quickest of the Ents. That is how I earned the name Quickbeam."

"_You_ speak fast?" I asked. "Man, I would hate to see how fast the other Ents talk."

"You may meet them, if you wish," said Quickbeam. He bent over and placed his hand on the ground, palm (at least, I think it was his palm) up. His fingers were tree branches with little green leaves sprouting up at the finger tips.

"Come," said Quickbeam. "I will take you to the Entmoot."

"The Entmoot," I said. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering how far away from the borders of the forest we were. Going to meeting of slow-talking Ents was not my idea of fun.

"Sure," said Nick, stepping onto Quickbeams palm.

I climbed into Quickbeam's hand after Nick, though I moved with more reluctance.

"I don't want to go," I muttered to Nick under my breath.

"Why not/" asked Nick. "It'll be fun. We don't have Ents back home."

"Yeah," I said. "But it's going to be boring. It's a gathering of slow-talking trees. Who wants to go to that?"

Nick opened his mouth to reply, but Quickbeam lifted his hand from the ground. For a moment, we were on a moving tree branch. I screamed and sat down, clinging to his hand for dear life. Nick seemed rather at ease as Quickbeam lifted us up to his shoulders. Nick hopped off the hand and settled onto a seat on Quickbeam's shoulder.

"Coming, Ana?" asked Nick, grinning at me.

"Put me back down," I said. "I'll walk to the Entmoot."

"You cannot walk quickly enough to keep up with me," said Quickbeam. "I will carry you."

"It's too high!" I wailed.

"She's afraid of heights," explained Nick.

"The ground! The ground! The ground!" I cried. "Look at the pretty ground! It's nice and sturdy and not moving around waaay above the ground so that if you fall you go splat and become a flat Ana pancake!"

"She does not like to be high?" asked Quickbeam. He frowned. "Maybe that is why she is so short. If she was any taller, she would be afraid to walk in case she were to trip and fall."

Nick laughed and patted Quickbeam on the shoulder. I glared at them reproachfully from my place on Quickbeam's hand.

"You two are not funny!" I called out. "I'm not laughing! Do you see my not laughing face? Do you?"

"I will carry her in my hand," said Quickbeam, beginning to walk forward. "Since she will not climb onto my shoulder."

Through the branches of his fingers, I could see the ground moving far beneath me. "Stop! Stop! Stop! This is dangerous! Someone could get hurt! Stop! No! I don't approve!"

"Is she always this afraid of being high?" asked Quickbeam.

Nick nodded gravely. "Ana is afraid of many things, though heights is the worst."

"She is afraid of _more_ things?" asked Quickbeam. He shook his head at me. "Poor Ana. She must live in a world of fear. High things are everywhere."

"She's afraid of driving while it's raining," said Nick. "She won't even go near her car if it's sprinkling. She's afraid of spiders, ants, and flies. Though she has no problem with the centipede that lives in my bathroom."

"Hartley is a kind and gentle soul!" I screamed. "Don't you dare squish him!"

"She even named the centipede," said Nick, shaking his head.

Quickbeam let out a booming laugh. "You two little people are so amusing. I should keep you with me all the time and we shall walk through the forest and look after the trees together."

"That sounds like fun," said Nick.

I screamed at the ground. "Only if you shrink! I refuse to spend my life being carried around so high above the ground!"

"But that's the best part," said Nick.

"Though," I said. "All this screaming and raw terror is helping me forget about my agonizing period cramps."

"I don't need to know these things," said Nick.

"What are period cramps?" asked Quickbeam. "I am not familiar with this phrase."

"It's a female thing," said Nick. "You don't want to know."

"I hate my life!" I screamed.

"She really does not like high up places," said Quickbeam cheerfully. "Perhaps I should let her walk the rest of the way."

"She's fat and slow," said Nick. "Carrying her is best."

"Sadistic!" I shouted at him. "And I've gotten a lot better at running. The Fellowship and the Company give me workouts every day!"

"I thought you said Boromir carries you all the time," said Nick.

"Only when I can't keep up with the workout."

"It does not matter," said Quickbeam. "We have arrived at the Entmoot."

Nick and I look forward. Quickbeam stepped through the trees in to a vast open space in the middle of the forest. There were other trees standing in the clearing, but like Quickbeam, these trees had arms and legs and faces. They had gathered around and oddly shaped, jagged rock and were swaying gently in the wind.

At the arrival of Quickbeam, one Ent opened his eyes and stepped forward to greet Quickbeam. He was quite a bit taller than Quickbeam and much older. A mossy beard hung from his face and his dark green eyes were flecked with brown.

"Treebeard," said Quickbeam. He let out a low moan (this is how Ents talk).

Treebeard responded in a similar fashion. Then, he asked, "Who have you brought with you, Quickbeam?'

"These are two humans I met," said Quickbeam. "They wished to see the other Ents. They are funny little creatures who bring me great amusement."

Treebeard stared at Nick and me for a moment. "How odd these coincidences do occur. I too have brought little people with me to the Entmoot. Place your little people with mine and they shall converse while the Entmoot goes on."

"Little people?" wondered Nick.

Quickbeam crossed the clearing. He moved his hand to his shoulder and Nick climbed back onto the palm. He lowered us to the ground and I scampered off his hand as quickly as I could. Safety!

"Ana?"

I stopped dancing on the mossy ground and looked up toee who had spoken my name.

Two little hobbits stood under the treetops, their eyes wide with shock.

A wide grin spread across my face. "Merry! Pippin!"

* * *

**A/N: The Ents were not my favorite part of the movies or books, but, you know, I didn't really like movie-Boromir either and yet he ended up being Ana's best friend. Weird how writing does that. **

**Look deep into your hearts and find that bit of kindness that exists inside us all and review! Thanks! **


	27. The Tower Of The Little Wizard

**XXVII: The Tower Of The Little Wizard**

"So how did you come to Fangorn forest?" I asked.

I settled into a seat on top of a flat root and Nick leaned back against the tree trunk. Pippin was sitting comfortably on the mossy ground, while Merry paced back and forward, shooting nervous glances at the trees.

"We were captured by orcs," said Pippin. He shuddered. "They carried us across the lands. One night, they argued amongst themselves and were attacked by men on horses. Merry and I fled into Fangorn forest where we met Treebeard."

"The big talking tree?" I asked.

Pippin nodded. "Ents."

"I know," I said. "Carry on."

"We have to do something," said Merry, irritably.

"About…?"

"Saruman," said Merry irritably. "His army marches towards Rohan and his evil spreads. The Ents have the power to stop him and yet they sit in the forest and do nothing."

"As long as doesn't touch the forest, I don't think the Ents care," said Nick.

"But they have harmed the forest," said Pippin. "Saruman has been cutting down the trees to make way for industry."

"Oh." Said Nick. "In that case, the trees should be rebelling. Why are they sitting around having an Entmoot? They should rise up and have their revenge."

"Ents do not work that way," said Merry. He made his voice deep and low like that of an Ent. "Do not be hasty, Master Meriadock." Merry snorted. "Hasty?"

I snorted. "Master Meriadoc?"

"That is my name," said Merry.

"Meriadoc? Really?"

"That is what I have always said," said Pippin. "Meriadoc is such a grandfather name. Would you mother not name you something more modern?"

"Yes," said Merry. "Because Peregrin is so youthful."

"I like Peregrin," I said. "I kind of reminds me of parrot."

"A pigeon," said Nick.

"Excuse me," said Pippin. "But who is this person?"

"This person?" I glanced at Nick. He stood next to the pacing Merry. There hade to be a good two and half feet difference in their heights. It was kind of ridiculous. Smiling, I turned back to Pippin and said, "That wonky giant is my Nick. I accidentally brought him with me."

"_Your_ Nick," said Nick, scoffing. "I'm not anybody's Nick."

I pointed at myself and mouthed the word "Mine" to Pippin. He nodded understandingly.

Nick rolled his eyes. "So, then, are you _my_ Ana?"

"Nope. This is not a mutually relationship. I am the owner, you are the pet." A broad grin spread across my face. "You're kind of a like a dog. One of those big, skinny dogs. Oh! I know. You're a Dalmatian."

"I am not a Dalmatian," said Nick.

"Yes, you are."

Nick turned to Merry. "Doesn't she look more like a dog than me?"

Merry, who kept shooting nervous glances towards the Ents, turned to look at me. He nodded. "She would be a very cute puppy."

"There you go," said Nick. "You're my puppy."

"I'm already Thorin's doggy. I can't have two owners."

"You're Thorin's doggy?" asked Nick. "Is this your wishful thinking?"

"Nope. He actually agreed to it. He called me his doggy and everything."

"I still think it's your wishful thinking," said Nick.

"Shut up. You're my puppy. And since you're the puppy of his puppy, you're also Thorin's puppy too."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Okay, okay. He's like my master…he's more like your grandmaster."

"You're making less and less sense as this goes on," said Merry.

"You should quit while you're ahead," said Nick.

I opened my mouth to respond. Then I stopped. Something had just occurred to me. I glanced left and then right. I didn't have my purse with me. I have left it at the bowling alley. Oh shit.

"Nick…" I said, slowly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm in trouble."

Nick frowned. "How are you in trouble?"

"It's that time of the month."

At first, Nick didn't understand. He just stared at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. Then—like a bolt of lightning—comprehension struck him. His eyes went really wide and he actually took a step backwards, shaking his head.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I don't want to deal with this. I'm going to go join the Entmoot. I'm not involved with this."

"Wait! Nick! Help me!" I cried, stretching out my hands to him.

Nick didn't help me. He marched across the clearing and joined the Ents standing around the gray stone. He closed his eyes and started swaying in time with the Ents, as if he actually knew what they were talking about.

"Damn him," I muttered.

"What do you mean?" asked Pippin. "What is 'that time of the month'?"

I turned to Pippin. Gradually, a smile crossed my face. "Pippin. I need your help."

"What do you need my help with?"

"You have to promise me," I said. "You have to promise me, that you won't run away like Nick. Before I can tell you what I need help with, you have to promise that you won't run away."

"Er…" Pippin glanced over at Nick.

"Well?"

"Um…"

"Promise me."

Pippin fled towards the clearing. He joined Nick by the gray boulder.

"Damn," I said, crossing my arms. "It's not that bad!"

"What's not that bad?" asked Merry. (The only one who had not fled.)

"I have a problem," I said. "And I need help."

"Okay," said Merry. "What is the problem?"

"You'll help me?"

"It would be cruel of me not to help a friend in need."

I snorted. "Tell that to Nick and Pippin."

"Why did they flee?" asked Merry, glancing over his shoulder with an expression of doubt on his face.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "You promised to help. Okay? So, it's my time of the month and usually I'll just use a tampon. You know, shove it up there and we're good for a couple of hours. Well, since I Skipped and I didn't bring my purse with me when I Skipped, I don't have my extra tampons. But I'm starting to bleed through and need something to pad up the blood!"

Merry stared. And stared. And stared. And stared.

"I think I should go join Pippin and Nick by the rock."

"Merry! You promised! You have to help a friend in need!"

He stared to walk away, but I leapt up and grabbed him by the back of the shirt. "Wait! No! You have to help me!"

"I do not wish to have any part of that business!"

"I'm bleeding! Help your eternally wounded comrade!"

"No! Let me be a tree!"

"You have to help me!"

"No! I do not!"

"Help! Please! Please-please-please!"

"No!"

He tried to run away and I pull him backwards and somehow we both ended up falling to the ground.

"Fine," said Merry. He rummaged around in his small backpack and pulled out a white undershirt. He handed it to me and snapped, "Use this."

I took the shirt and the moment I released him, Merry sprinted across the clearing to join the others. The shirt was scratching and not very comfortable. I sighed. When on the road, a girl must make do.

Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to give you the details about the whole shirt-as-a-pad thing. I'm just going to move the story to the end of Entmoot. When, Treebeard announced that after three days of talking, the Ents had decided to go to war. Saruman was a wizard and he should understand the importance and the sacredness of the forest. Saruman had neglected the forest and even destroyed it. The Ents needed to punish Saruman.

Merry and Pippin climbed onto Treebeard's shoulders and he would carry them to Isengard. Nick happily sat on the branches of Quickbeam, but when Quickbeam offered his hand to carry me, I flat out refused.

"I will walk to Isengard," I said.

"You will be late," said Quickbeam. "You cannot walk as fast as an Ent and you will miss all the fighting."

"That's a good thing," I said. "I'll come when all the dangerous parts are over."

"She's kind of a coward," said Nick.

"Kind of?" I asked. "I am a coward. I am a coward and proud."

"What seems to be the problem?" A tall Ent with smooth, dark brown bark came to a stop beside us. His bark-face crinkled as he frowned.

"The little one will not ride on an Ent," said Quickbeam. "She does not like high places."

"She does not like high places?" asked the Ent. "That is an odd thing to dislike. If you stand, will you not be afraid that you will fall?"

"I'm not that tall," I said. "I just don't like high places where if I fall I will go splat."

"You will not go splat if you ride on my shoulders," said Quickbeam. "I will hold you up."

"Nope," I said. "I will walk."

"I will let you fall," said the Ent. "I walk sturdily and my pace is even. Quickbeam is too hasty for an Ent. In his haste, he might trip and fall. But I am well-paced. You will be safe on my shoulders."

I eyed his shoulders, where the branches protruded. He did look a little bit safer than Quickbeam to ride. I did not really want to walk to Isengard. Besides, an Ent might accidentally step on me. "Alright," I said. "We'll try this."

"I am Beechbone," said the Ent.

"I'm Ana. Nice to meet you."

He held out his hand and I stepped on it. He lifted me to his shoulders and waited for me to jump on his back. I didn't move from his hand. I stood there, paralyzed with fear.

"I'm not moving," I said. "Nope. Not an inch."

Beechbone sighed. Using his other hand, he caught me between two branch-fingers. I screamed as he lifted me from his other hand and carefully placed me on his shoulders. I wrapped my arms around the nearest branch and clung onto it as tightly as I could.

"This is not funny!" I wailed.

"I think it's immensely funny," said Nick.

"I hate you all! I hope the ground opens and swallows you all—Ents and hobbits and skinny men a like! And then I'll stand on the edge of the hole that swallowed you all and I'll laugh my head off. Curse you tall people and you people who don't have a fear of heights! Double curse those of you who are both!"

"You are a funny little creature," said Beechbone.

"She is an adorable little creature though," said Quickbeam fondly. "They like to scamper on the ground and yell words at each other. It is adorable."

"I like the Ents," I said, suddenly. "Every other person I've met in Middle Earth has called me ugly. The dwarves call me ugly. The men call me ugly. The elves just prance around like the pretty boys they are and make me feel ugly. But the Ents, the Ents are like—she's _adorable_."

"I think they mean adorable like in the way mice are adorable," said Nick. "We're really small in their eyes, so it doesn't matter if we're really ugly. We're just little and adorable."

"You're raining on my parade," I said.

"Bring an umbrella."

The Ents march went on like this for a long while. Nick, Quickbeam, Beechbone, and I chatted the whole way. Quickbeam (despite being ridiculously slow) spoke much quicker than Beechbone. Every word that came from that's Ents mouth was ridiculously long and drawn out. Sometimes, I wanted to shout "Hurry up!" Then, I would remember that I was riding on his shoulders and he could very easily drop me. I spent the whole ride clinging to Beechbone's branches in terror, so upsetting the Ent did not seem like the best idea.

Eventually, we reached the borders to Isengard. I peered over the stone wall into the home of the treacherous wizards. Orcs ran across the barren land. They shouted cruel thing in their wretched language. Fires burned and the deep below the earth, in their mines, industry roared and the furnaces rumbled. The tower in which Saruman lived was tall. It stretched high into the gray sky. The tower was black with sharp spikes protruding from the sides. Orthanc, I later learned, was the name of the tower.

"Saruman," said Treebeard, his voice rumbling through Isengard. "We have come. We have come to speak with you."

For a moment, I did not know who Treebeard was talking to. Then, a man in white robes appeared in the middle to the tower. He was old, his white hair and long, white beard. But he was not bent over or wearied by age. There was something about the old man who reminded me of Gandalf—the same sense of power lurking behind the aged appearance. But Saruman presented that power openly, while Gandalf kept his hidden under his gray cloaks.

"Fangorn," said Saruman. "What business have you with me? You are far from the borders of you forest. Go back. And bother me no more."

"The borders of the forest once reached this far," said Treebeard. "When last I passed by the trees reached Orthanc. They were young trees whose voices were filled with joy and life. But when I came this way once more, they were gone. Blackened by your handiwork."

"These are not your lands, Fangorn," said Saruman. "I have the right to work my lands as I wish. Go back to your forest and tend to the trees."

Treebeard turned to the rest of the Ents. "The little wizard will not be reasoned with. He sits high in his tower and tries to make himself tall. But a little creature sitting on the mountain top is still a little creature."

A deep roar rose up amongst the trees. At first, I thought it was their battle cry, but no—they were laughing at Saruman. The trees started forward—one slow foot at a time. They grabbed pieces of the wall and hurled them at the orcs. The hideous creatures scampered about the ground, screaming and panicking. The Ents tore down Saruman's wall. The orcs tried to fight back, but they were no match for the trees.

"Ah-ha!" cried Nick, laughing delightedly. "It's good to be tall."

"Do not harm the trees," said Quickbeam. "Or the trees will harm you."

"It is good," said Beechbone. "The little wizard flees from us."

"Don't move so much!" I wailed, clinging to the branches of Beechbone's shoulder. "I'll fall! I'll fall! Can you just stand still and let the other Ents do the fighting!"

"There is a noising little one in my ear," said Beechbone. He hurled a massive boulder and a heavy machine the orcs had been pulling. The machine bent way underneath the weight of the stone. "Would the little one like to throw a boulder too?"

"I want to be down!" I cried. "Stop moving!"

"For the trees," roared Quickbeam.

"I don't like talking trees!" I screamed. "They don't listen!"

"Do not worry, little one," said Beechbone. "I will not let you fa—"

Beechbone never got to fulfill his promise. Saruman stepped out onto the balcony of his tower and pointed his white staff at Beechbone. Saruman muttered some words in a foreign tongue and a jet of fire shot out from the end of his staff. The flames consumed Beechbone for a moment. Beechbone howled in pain, while I clung to his shoulder, trying to blow the flames away from me. The flames subsided, but they had caught alight on Beechbone's chest.

"Put it out! Put it out!" I cried.

Beechbone howled again. I felt something grasp me by the shirt. I screamed as I was lifted from his shoulder. Beechbone kept a firm hold on my back as he staggered about, trying to put out the flames. His legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to the ground. I went crashing down with him. Oh my God! He was going to crush me! I was going to die! Splat! Splat! Ah!

But no. Beechbone placed me on the ground and released my back. He lay on the ground. A deep roar exploded from within him and the flames ate at his bark. The other Ents echoed his cry. The noise of their agony rolled through Isengard. No one could ignore it. The Ents went wild. Orcs screamed and tried to escape, but the Ents had no mercy left within them. Quickbeam almost captured Saruman, but the wizard scampered away.

"Beechbone!" I cried. "Beechbone! Get up! You're a friggin' Ent of Fangorn. I know you're slow, but you're not so slow that you can be taken down by a little fire. Get up and call him that little wizard. Beechbone!"

"Ana! Look out!"

I glanced up just in time to see Nick jump down from Quickbeam's hand. He landed on top of me, knocking me to the ground just as an orc swung his axe and almost took off my head.

"Nick!" I cried.

The orc went for another blow.

Skip.

Someone screamed. There was a heavy thud and the sound of a ball rolling.

I opened my eyes and saw that a fat woman in a pink dress had dropped her bowling ball. She was staring at me in horror. I looked around. Her husband and two kids were staring at us two. They seemed to be at a loss as to what to say. Nick sat on the seat next to me. He lookedas though someone had beat him over the back of the head.

"Where are the trees?" he asked. "Where's the orc? Did Beechbone survive?"

"Sorry," I said to the family. "We thought this lane was free. Our mistake. We'll be going now." I hopped up from my seat and dragged a very confused Nick away from the family and to the counter. (We still had our exceedingly flattering bowling shoes on.)

"I hope they kept my purse," I said. "Because damn I need some tampons."

"I don't need to know these things," said Nick. "And what happened to the trees?"

"We Skipped," I said.

"Just like that."

"Yeah. Just like that."

"And Beechbone?"

I turned to Nick and smiled. "Beechbone survives the battle, returned to Fangorn with Treebeard and Quickbeam. Beechbone tends to his trees for the rest of his life and continues living at his own pace and speaking extremely slowly."

Nick frowned. "I don't think it ended like that."

"Yes, it did."

He didn't argue.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I had to have the period problem in there. If any guys read this (I don't think there are...) sorry, but it is a very real problem that Ana would have to face eventually. Poor Merry... Pippin and Nick did the smart thing.**

**Please review. Because I love you. And you love me. Thanks! **


	28. A Nice Day For A Swim

**XXVIII: A Nice Day For A Swim**

"Summer!" I cannonballed into the pool. Water sprayed up in all directions, splashing Karen in the face. She crossed her arms and scowled as I bobbed back up to the surface of the pool, my short little legs kicking beneath me.

"Was that really necessary?" asked Karen.

I grinned up at her. "You're wet now."

She ran her fingers through her long brown hair. "Damn."

"Water is fun," I said. "You should try it. It won't hurt you. Unless you're a witch. Then you'll jump into the water and just melt away. One second—fun. The next second—you're floating on the surface of the water like candle wax. Wouldn't be fun. Maybe that's why you don't want to get in the pool. Are you a witch?"

Karen stared at me. "I'm going to go get a coke."

She started to turn around when Nick came sprinting past her. He jumped into the air and dropped into the pool a few feet from me. Water flew into my face and I wrenched my eyes shut, laughing and coughing all at once.

"Nick!" I cried as he resurfaced. "Not cool! You could have drowned me there and I would have been like—cough, cough, gag, gag. And I could have died!"

"But you didn't," said Nick. He swam to the side of the pool and grinned up at his perfect-figured girlfriend. "Coming in?"

"I want a coke," said Karen.

"Then will you come in?"

"You're already wet," I said. "Might as well come swim."

Karen frowned at me. "Maybe later. Come with me?" She asked Nick, her big brown eyes pleading with him.

"But I want to swim," said Nick, pouting.

Karen sighed. "Fine. I'll go get the coke by myself."

She turned around and walked away. Nick watched her go with a forlorn expression on his face.

"Well," I said. "She seems nicer than Joanna."

"She's not happy with me," said Nick. "Why isn't she happy with me?"

I sighed. "Men." I shook my head. "You just blew her off to spend time with your female best friend. That's kind of suspicious. She's probably wallowing in a pool of self-pity right now, thinking that her beloved boyfriend prefers is average-looking friend over her way-above-average body. Some monkeys—such as gorillas—are polygamous and where the male has multiple female mating partners. The gorillas remain married to each wife for the rest of their lives and there is no such thing as divorce. However, as much as we share in common with gorillas, we are not a polygamous society and our males change female mating partners constantly. So, you should appreciate the fact that you current female mating partner does not like that you have females friends who, in her eyes, are possible replacement female mating partners. I am seen as a threat in our mating society and therefore she is concerned with her position at the female mate. It's simple logic. Even a monkey can understand that."

"How do you manage to explain everything in terms of monkeys?"

"Because monkeys are awesome. Now go comfort your female mating partner."

Nick rolled his eyes, but he got out of the pool and headed down the path toward the food hut, where Karen was waiting in line for her coke. I watched them for a second as Nick went up to her and said murmured something in her ear. She laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

I pushed off from the wall and floated on my back for a second. Great. I was the third wheel on another of Nick's dates. If Bonnie had been here, we would have stayed in the pool the whole time and made comments about Nick's model-perfect girlfriends and their rotten personalities. And whenever the girlfriend mentioned a date, Bonnie and I would pretend to be Bick's lesbian friends. The amount of amusement Bonnie and I would get from these dates was ridiculous. But, of course, Bonnie wasn't here anymore. She was somewhere in Middle Earth. Maybe she was alive. Maybe she wasn't. I didn't really know. Hopefully the alive option.

"There is something floating in the water!"

"Not something, someone!"

I opened my eyes and rolled over in the water. I looked around. There was nothing in the water. Whoa. Wait. I wasn't in the pool anymore. There were rocky beaches to my left and to my right. Behind the beaches was a forest of dark, evergreen trees. Behind me, I saw three white boats drifting along the water. At the front, Frodo and Sam leaned over the edge of the boat, their eyes practically popping out of their heads, while Aragorn looked rather exasperated. In the boat next to theirs, Merry and Pippin were gawking at me. Boromir had a wide grin on his face. In the last boat was Legolas and Gimli. Legolas had his "Oh God, Not Again" face on, while Gimli just looked plain confused.

"Boromir!" I cried. He looked well and alive as he paddled down the river. No wounds. No sicknesses. Safe and sound.

"Hello, Ana," said Boromir. "What are you doing in the river?"

"It's a peasant day for a swim," I said. "I was walking along the shore and thought. It's quite hot; I should jump in and have a little swim about. You should join me. It's quite nice." I rolled onto my back and drifting down stream again.

"What are you _wearing_?" asked Legolas.

I blinked and glanced down at my body. Right. I had forgotten that I was only wearing a bikini. Not Middle Earth appropriate attire. I went back to my treading water position, hoping the river water would cover my swimsuit.

"It's what people in my world wear when we go in the water," I said. "It dries quickly."

"People wear that kind of thing normally in your world?" asked Legolas incredulously.

"Yep. My world standards of modest are dropping rapidly. Pretty soon we won't be wearing anything when we go swimming. Though, I suppose nudist beaches already exist, so that's not that weird. And topless beaches. Who does that? I don't want to see old women's saggy boobs. That's just awkward."

"Sometimes," said Aragorn. "I do not understand what she is saying and other times, I do not _want_ to understand what she is saying."

"Aw. I love you too, Aragorn," I said, waving.

"I have a shirt you can borrow in my bag," said Merry.

"If it's that faded white shirt of yours the answer is no," I said. "Keep it on you. I'm going to need it in the future."

"I doubt it would fit," said Boromir. "She can borrow one of mine."

I paddled over to Boromir, Merry, and Pippin's boat. Boromir pulled me inside and handed me the shirt. I pulled it over my head and, sure enough, the shirt was huge on me. Oh well. Better that than my awkward swimsuit that made every male present feel uncomfortable.

"So," I said. "How have you guys been?"

I kept grinning at the still-alive Boromir. He was alive at the moment. He would, of course, die some time in the future, but for now he was alive. Which meant I could tell him the future and in doing so, change the future. Perfect. Don't tell me there are holes in my plan, I don't want to hear it. I found out those holes—only it was after everything else had screwed up beyond belief.

"We have just left Lothlorien," said Boromir. "It is a fair place. So fair that I do not think another forest like it exists anymore in this world. We had a short rest there with the Lady and the Lord. The Lady Galadriel gave us each gifts to take with us upon our departure."

"Oh, and what did she give you?" I asked.

"A gold belt," said Boromir, gesturing to his waist.

"Nice," I said. "Very fashion forward. And you?" I asked Merry and Pippin.

"We got belts too," said Pippin.

"Oh, so she tried to improve the fashion sense of everyone," I said, nodding.

"Aragorn received a magical scabbard and a gem from Arwen," said Pippin.

"Well," I said. "He's a to-be king. He has to up his shiny bling levels before he ascends to the throne."

"Shiny bling?" asked Merry.

"Sparky stuff what makes him seem more awesome."

"Oh."

"So what else?" I asked.

"Legolas received a bow," said Merry. "And Sam received a box of earth to use when he returns to the Shire."

"Nice, nice," I said. "And Gimli?"

Pippin frowned and exchanged confused glances with Merry. "We do not actually know what gift Gimli received."

We all turned to stare at Legolas and Gimli's boat. The dwarf seemed extremely uncomfortable with water and he kept eyeing the glassy surface suspiciously.

"Hey, Gimli! What did Galadriel give you?" I shouted.

Gmli looked up from the water. He saw the four of us—Boromir, Merry, Pippin, and me—practically leaning out of the boat, listening attentively. Gimli's face flushed under his red beard and he quickly looked away.

"It is a secret."

Boromir and I exchanged excited looks.

"This is getting so interesting," I said.

"Gimli," said Boromir. "We are all friends here."

Legolas smirked while Gimli refused to acknowledge our existence.

"Sharing is caring," I said.

"You cannot hide from us forever," said Merry. "We will find out the truth."

"Legolas knows," said Pippin. "Legolas, you must tell us."

Legolas shook his head. "I have been sworn into secrecy."

"Come on," I said. "I know you and Gimli have become unnaturally good friends considering you're an elf and a dwarf, but there've got to be some of that old hatred still seething beneath the surface. Think of all the racist comments Gimli has made that you want revenge for…"

Legolas looked throughtful.

"You have got to be joking," said Gimli, turning to Legolas. "You are going to betray me with that?"

"Well," said Legolas. "You did call me a beardless, pointy eared she-male ."

"That was, um, before we were friends," said Gimli.

Legolas stared at Gimli for a second and the turned around. "He asked Galadriel for a strand of her hair. She gave him three."

"_Hair_?" I asked incredulously. "From that crazy woman? What are you, her stalker? That's kind of weird. Then again, what's even weirder is that she gave them to you. If a guy came up and asked me for a strand of my hair, I would be like—what are you going to do with that? Is that for some kind of voodoo magic? Are you going to curse me? Or are you in love with me? Are you going to lay awake at night with my hair, stoking it and calling it precious?"

"Do not be cruel," said Boromir. "Gimli is just a hopeless romantic." A huge grin spread across Boromir's face. "Though you have to admit that is unexpected."

"He is smitten!" cried Pippin. "An arrow struck him through the heart and now he cannot break free." Pippin mimed getting struck by an arrow and then started batting his eyelashes at Gimli.

Gimli's face was bright red. He shuffled to the other side of his boat and refused to look at us for the rest of the trip. We made jokes at his expense for a little while, but then the guilt hit us and we started flattering Gimli's boldness and his romantic side to try and get him to talk to us again. Of course, it didn't help that every time we did manage to get Gimli to say something, Legolas would make a quip about Galadriel's hair and we would have to start the process all over again.

Eventually, Aragorn led the Fellowship to the banks of the river. The Fellowship unpacked the necessities from the boat and started to set up camp. Boromir went to get firewood while Sam started preparing dinner. Legolas and Aragorn took care of the boats, pulling them up onto the shore and out of the reach of the river. Frodo wandered apart from the group, a far away look in his blue eyes. Gimli kept to himself, still angry at the rest of us for mocking his gift. (Sorry, Gimli.) Merry and Pippin didn't help that much with the set up and spent most of the time chatting to one corner.

"Frodo is still upset over what happened in Moria," said Merry. "I mean, we all are upset, but I think him more so than the rest of us. He was very close to Gandalf."

"Poor guy," I said. (You have to remember that I was also in Lothlorien at this time, discovering that Gandalf had returned to life). "He just need some distractions. And if there's anyone that's good at distractions—it's me. I mean, come on—have you heard me rant about monkeys? It's ridiculous. It's ridiculous how awesome monkeys are. One time, I was at the zoo and the monkeys were in the outside enclosure and they would just sit there, lazing about in the son and then—bam—they all got up at once and started doing laps around the enclosure. They would swing from the wooden beams and go around and around the enclosure, chasing one another like a game of tag. It was awesome."

"You have made your point," said Merry. "Your distraction skills are well sharpened."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "I was talking about monkeys. What does that have to do with distraction skills?"

"Um, you were going to distract Frodo from his grief," said Merry.

"Oh right." I jumped up from my seat. "See you later!"

I bounded through the forest in a cheerful mood. Not only would I get to tell Frodo that Gandalf is alive and well and currently staying in Lothlorien, but I also get to warn Boromir of his possible death and in doing so change the future. This was a good day. I mean, normally, it's me running around being made fun of by dwarves, but today—today was not like that. I grinned. It was a happy day. Even the air felt cleaner today.

"Give it! Give it to me!"

I stopped. That did not sound like a happy day tone of voice.

Through the thin, naked trees I could see two figures fighting. Or, more accurately, one large figure was trying to grab hold of a smaller, child-like figure. The two fought—pushing and kicking and struggling and shouting. Dirt and leaves flew in every direction. Frodo and Boromir fell to the ground.

"Get away! Get away!"

Frodo kicked Boromir in the chest and Boromir fell backwards onto the ground.

Frodo scrambled for something around his neck. The Ring.

I opened my mouth to stop him, but it was too late. He slipped the Ring onto his finger and vanished.

"I see the future!" screamed Boromir. "You sneaky hobbit! I see the future! You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us all! You will leave the White City in ruin! Traitor! Coward! Halfling!"

"What the hell are you saying?"

Boromir stopped shouting at the invisible Frodo. Slowly, he turned to stare at me. At first, he seemed not to recognize me. Then, his eyes widened. Horror struck him and he took a step backwards.

"What have I done?" he asked. "What have I done?'

"What have you done?" I asked, my voice reaching a higher pitch. "What have you done?"

"The Ring…"

"Yes, yes," I said. "The Ring. The one Ring to rule them all. The evil Ring. The Ring that is used by the enemy. The Ring you are trying to destroy. The Ring which Frodo was entrusted to carry. The Ring you just tried to take from him!"

"I wanted the Ring," said Boromir. He clutched his hair and shook his head. "Why did I want the Ring?"

"I don't know! I don't know! But it was stupid! Fucking stupid!"

"But the Halfling," said Boromir. "He cannot be trusted. The Ring, the Ring should go to Gondor."

I slapped him.

I kid you not. The moment I heard those words pass through his lips, I stepped forward and slapped Boromir right across the face.

That was my mistake.

You see, in that second, that split second, in which my hand cracked across his face, I Skipped. One moment, we were standing in a forest amongst leaves and trees and a gray sky and the next, we were standing at a pool side.

A girl screamed. Someone shouted something about cosplayers. People were talking. I could hear them all around me. What's going on? Where did they come from? Did she just slap him? Is this some kind of stunt? They just appeared there. Out of thin air.

I could only stare at Boromir. His right cheek was slightly red and his face was extremely pale. He wasn't looking at me, but rather taking in the unfamiliar sight around him.

"Where are we?" he asked

"Oh my God," I said, taking a step backwards. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God."

"Ana?"

"You're in Ohio."

* * *

**A/N: Please review?**


	29. The Fellowship And The Company

**XXIX: The Fellowship And The Company**

"Ana? Where are we?"

I grabbed Boromir by the wrist and dragged him away from the pool, aware that everyone was staring at us. This was one situation I didn't bother to explain. I just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I practically sprinted along the sidewalk past the food hut and through the exit to the parking lot. I dragged Boromir along behind me. He seemed a little overwhelmed by the whole experience. He gawked, open-mouthed, at everything. Even the hot dogs.

"What are they eating?" asked Boromir. "It is long and meaty."

"It's food," I said. "Come on."

I pulled Boromir to a stop underneath the shade of a tree. It had just occurred to me that my car was in the parking lot, but I didn't have a key. Great.

"Where are we?" asked Boromir.

"We're in my world," I said again. "Calm down. It's not that bad. Um. I need a cell phone. Cell phone. Cell phone. Anybody got a cell phone?"

I saw a young man and his girlfriend crossing the parking lot. The guy was texting someone on his smart phone. I practically sprinted across the parking lot, screeching to a halt right in front of the couple.

"Can I borrow your phone?" I cried. "It's an emergency! I locked my purse in the car and I need to call my friend!"

"Er." The guy handed me the phone.

I practically stabbed the screen as I typed in Nick's number. The held the phone to my ear, listening to the ringing. Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up.

"Hello?"

"Nick! Oh my God! Help me! I'm outside the pool and I don't have my purse and I can't get into my car and Boromir is here. Yeah. Boromir is here. I don't know what to do! People keep staring and I'm like—this is totally normal. But it's totally not normal. And I don't know what to do, but he's not dead and he's here. He's here! He has no idea what's going on. I don't even know what's going on! Nick, you have to help me. Where's my purse? Where's my keys? I can't even get into my car! This is terrible!"

There was a pause. "Who is this?"

"Nick!"

"Okay, okay, sorry, Ana. That was too good to resist. But—what?"

"I brought Boromir back with me."

"The guy who dies?"

"But he's not dead. I brought him back with me before he could die."

"Ana. Why did you do that?"

"It wasn't on purpose!"

"Sure it wasn't. Okay. I'm coming. I have your purse, by the way. I brought all your stuff home when you disappeared."

"Good boy." I hung up and started walking back over to Boromir.

"Wait!"

"Huh?" I turned around and saw the couple staring at me. I glanced down at the phone in my hand. "Oops. Thanks."

The guy took his phone and gave me one of those Oh-My-God-She's-A-Freak looks before he and his girlfriend headed for the pool. Whatever. No my problem right then. My problem right then was Boromir. What was I going to do with a Middle Earth Gondor steward-prince?

"Who do the females here where so little clothing?" asked Boromir, frowning.

"I told you," I said. "We're at the swimming pool. People here don't wear a lot of clothes when they swim."

"Yes," said Boromir. "But they are practically not wearing anything."

"Welcome to my world."

Boromir glanced at me and frowned. "You are not happy."

"Well, yes, you're not supposed to be here. The Skip came at a really, really bad time…" I trailed off. "Or maybe it was supposed to happen at that time." I turned to Boromir, a sudden feverish excitement in my eyes.

"I do not like that look," said Boromir suspiciously.

"Maybe the Skip was meant to happen right then," I said. "It had to happen right then, when I slapped you. It had to happen so you could come to my world and not die. Maybe no matter how much I warned you, you would end up dying anyways, so the Skip brought you here with me so you won't die in Middle Earth!"

Boromir stared. "I was going to die?"

I nodded. "By orcs. I don't know exactly when, but It was some time after Frodo left the Fellowship.'

"Frodo leaves the Fellowship?"

"It's necessary. And I know Frodo and Sam cross the river without the rest of the Fellowship."

Boromir frowned. "Does he leave because I tried to take the Ring from him?"

I froze mid-sentence and stared at the grass. It had never really occurred to me the true reason why Frodo left the Fellowship. I knew that he had wanted to protect the rest of the Fellowship from the same fate as Gandalf, but it never occurred to me that he was protecting them from themselves too.

"Maybe," I said. "But I think Frodo planned to leave before that. It doesn't matter. I'm sure he forgives you. The important thing is—you're not going to die. Because you're here with me."

Boromir didn't say anything.

A horn honked and I leapt a foot in the air. I spun around and saw Nick leaning out the window of his car, staring at Boromir and me with a half-amused, half-shocked expression.

"You weren't lying," said Nick. "You really did bring someone from Middle Earth here."

"Yeah," I said. "Kind of crazy, isn't it?"

"Come on," said Nick. "Get in the car. People are staring."

I opened the back door for Boromir to get in, but he could only stare at the car. "What kind of devilry is this?"

"Right," I said. "You haven't seen cars before. This is Gertrude. Nick's grandma car. She moves at about forty miles per hour on the interstate and puts all other drivers at the point of insanity. While I could tell you that Gertrude is perfectly safe to ride in, that would be a lie. Especially with Nick behind the wheel. Just think of this as another crazy adventure. You've already ran away from wargs, tried to cross a friggin' violent mountain, almost gotten destroyed by a balrog, and almost fallen out of a tree. You can handle Gertrude."

"She has personality," said Nick, rolling his eyes.

Boromir did get into the car. But he looked extremely awkward the entire time and the moment Nick started to drive, Boromir clutched the seats and the door.

"Who invented this infernal thing?" asked Boromir.

"I don't know who invented the first car," said Nick. "But this is a Toyota."

Boromir's eyes narrowed. "May Toyota be cursed into the fiery stomach of Mountain Doom along with that wretched Ring."

"Speed bump," said Nick cheerfully.

Both Boromir and I cried out and clung to the sides of the car as Nick raced over the speed bump. I swear, the car flew two feet into the air and landed with a heavy thud.

"Whew," said Nick. "Let's do that again."

"This is why you don't drive me places!" I screamed.

"You're just a big baby," said Nick. "You've faced far more terrifying things than my driving."

"Speed limits are there for a reason, Nick!" I wailed. "To protect the poor little children who while playing accidentally overthrow the ball and they have to chase it into the street! You're a maniac! A lunatic! I hope they take away you license and you'll have to walk everywhere or take the _bus_."

"Oh God forbid," said Nick. "Not the bus."

The car screeched to a halt.

"We're here anyways."

I threw open the door to Nick's car and hopped outside onto the sidewalk. "Thank God, I thought I would never survive that."

Boromir staggered out of the car. "From now on, I will walk."

"Come on," said Nick, locking the car behind me. "It wasn't that bad."

Boromir and I glared at him.

Suddenly, Boromir straightened up. He looked around, his eyes widening as he took in the cars, roads, pedestrians, billboards, and skyscrapers. He right hand rested on the handle of his sword.

"Ana?" he said. "What is this witchcraft?"

"It's called technology," I said. "Come on."

I pulled him into my apartment building. At first, he seemed hesitant to go in, but he followed me. I led him up the five flights of stairs with Nick following close behind. The stairs seemed to comfort Boromir. He knew what stairs were. He could handle them. By the time we reached the third flight of stairs, he was even making jokes about how slowly I walked.

I reached the top of the five flights and stepped out onto the landing—only to run into Jack. He was heading down the stairs and he bumped into me. For a moment, we stood, staring at one another.

"Hi," I said. "Long time no see. I've been good. How about you? I mean, my life is going pretty good. I have a job. Or had a job. I don't know. I might have been fired already. I should call my work. Wow. Look at the time. It's been nice chatting with you."

I quickly stepped past Jack and darted to my apartment door. I pulled the key out of my purse (thank you, Nick) and shoved it into the lock. Okay, I missed the keyhole one—but only once. Then, I wrenched the key around and kicked the door open.

"Okay," I said, turning to Nick and Boromir. "Who wants coffee?"

Nick, true to his best friend status, was glowering at Jack while he walked past. Nick even had the nerve to raise two fingers to his eyes and then point the two fingers at Jack. "I'm watching you," said Nick.

"The coffee isn't going to wait," I said, ushering Nick into the apartment.

Boromir frowned at Jack, but stepped into the apartment. As I closed the door behind him, Boromir turned to me and asked, "Who was that?"

"Neighbor," I said.

"An asshole who dumped Ana after she accidentally Skipped during their first date," said Nick. "He wouldn't let her explain anything."

"It's fine," I said. "It would never have worked out anyways. He drank cold coffee in the winter. That's just _wrong_."

"Oh." Boromir turned to Nick. "Is this one of the situations where she pretends that something or someone is unimportant to her when actually is has a huge and lasting impact on her life?"

Nick nodded. "Unfortunately."

Boromir turned back to me. "Do you wish for me to—what was the phrase?—kick his ass for you?"

I shook my head. "I just want a hot cup of coffee. Any takers?"

"Me," said Nick.

"What is coffee?" asked Boromir.

"A gift from the gods," I said. "I'll make you a cup. Are you a sugar or milk kind of guy or do you like your coffee black like your soul?"

"You are speaking strangely again," said Boromir. "Can you translate for me?" he asked Nick.

Nick snorted. "You understand her just as well as I do."

"Is she a strange and foreign creature in your world too?" asked Boromir.

"She is strange and foreign creature in every world," said Nick.

"I hate you both," I said, flicking on the kettle. "You're both getting black coffee for those comments."

"So," said Nick, settling down on the sofa. "How did this happen?"

"How did what happen?" I asked, putting coffee grains into the French press.

"Boromir," said Nick. "How'd he come here?"

"I slapped him," I said. "And right when I slapped him, I Skipped."

"That's bad timing," said Nick. "The Skips need to work on their timing."

"I think they have perfect timing," I said. "This way Boromir won't die."

Boromir frowned. "How are you planning on preventing my death? You cannot keep me in this world."

"Sure we can," said Nick. "We just have to keep Ana away from you whenever she Skips."

"I just want you to live," I said.

Boromir frowned. "I do not wish to stay in this world."

"It's not that bad," I said. "All you've experienced is the pool and Nick's dreadful driving. But really, this place is great—we have coffee."

"I still do no know what this coffee is."

"Almost ready." I poured the hot water into the press.

"You could Skip back to your world after the time you're supposed to die," said Nick. "Just to be sure it doesn't happen."

"But what if he dies in some event after that?" I asked.

"You cannot prevent my death forever," said Boromir. "I will die of sickness of old age."

"And at that time, I'll let you die. But until then—you must live."

Boromir grinned. "You like me to that degree?"

I poured three cups of coffee and rolled my eyes at Boromir. "I _adore_ you."

"That is very good to know," said Boromir. "But you must still bring me back to Middle Earth. I made a promise to the Fellowship to travel with them as far as I may and a promise to Aragorn to look upon the White City with him. Whether or not I fulfill that promise is not for you to decide."

"But—"

"You cannot change that."

"But—"

"No buts," said Nick. "You're interrupting his inspirational speech."

"I don't get it," I said. I picked up two of the coffee mugs and headed to the living room. "All I know—it you will not die. I won't let it happen. You understand? Don't do anything stupid. I'll slap you all the way back here and you won't like that. Your face will be bright red and your cheeks will be on fire. It'll hurt for eternity and you'll be like—Ana, why'd you do this to me?—and I'll be like—I damn told you not to do anything stupid!—You understand?"

I passed Nick his coffee mug and turned to stare at Boromir. I refused to give him the coffee until he answered me. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Boromir.

"Good." I handed him the coffee mug.

Skip.

"Gad damn it!" I cried. "Does this have to happen every single time I try to have a serious conversation?"

"Er—Ana?"

"What?" I spun around to glare at Boromir. And then froze. I was standing in the middle of a wide hall. The hall was made almost entirely of wood with high walls supported by roughly carved wooden pillars. In the middle of the hall was a massive wooden table. The actual table itself was taller than my and the seat of the benches rested at my chest level. There were people in the hall—all staring at Boromir and I in shock. Standing nearest to us was a huge, hulking man with a grisly black beard. Sitting on the bench to his left was a wizard dressed entirely in gray. Next to the wizard, there was a short little hobbit. A hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins. Then, filling the seats at the massive table, their legs swinging with a good gap between their feet and the floor, were thirteen dwarves—each one as shocked as the other beside him. No. Actually, I lied. They were not all surprised. There was one dwarf who sat at the head of the table, eating his soup calmly and casually as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Thorin looked up from his soup. "I was wondering when you were going to appear again."

In any other circumstance, I would have made some quip about this remark. However, right then, all I could do was gawp at the dwarves for ten seconds. Then, I spun around and grabbed Boromir firmly by the arm.

"We're leaving!" I cried. "Right now. Skip us away! Skip us away! Skip us away! Skip us away!"

"We are not Skipping," said Boromir. He stared suspiciously at the mug of black coffee in his hand. "Is this safe?"

"Skip!" I wailed. "Why aren't we Skipping?"

"What are these people doing in my house?" A deep, rumbling voice rolled through the room. Electric shocks of fear ran down my spine and I spun around to see the black bearded man staring at me. His dark, wild eyes were filled with an intense hatred. Angry was swelling forth from him and for a second, I thought he would explode.

But Gandalf stepped forward and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Calm down, Beorn. She is a friend of the Company."

"More a pet that a friend," said Thorin.

"A friend?" asked Beorn. He turned to smile at Boromir and me. "Well, why did you not say so? Come! Have a seat! Have food!"

I stared at him. One second ago, he seemed ready to rip my head off and now he was offering me food. That wasn't odd in the slightest. Not at all.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said, trying to steer Boromir to the exit.

Thorin stared at me for a moment as I tried to push Boromir out the door of Beorn's house and far, far away from the dwarves. Thorin frowned. "What are you attempting to do, Ana?"

"No!" I cried. "Shush! No talking. None of you!" I pointed roughly at all the other dwarves. "Thorin, you can't talk. The same goes for you Boromir not a word. We're not Skipping out of here, but we can walk out of here on our own two feet. Going, going, gone. Got it? Go. No talking!"

Boromir pulled away from me and turned to stare at the table of dwarves. "So this is Thorin."

Thorin's eyes narrowed, his eyebrows knitting together. He stared at Boromir, trying to decide if he new this man.

"Boromir!" I wailed, grabbing him by the arm (I could not risk Skipping without him). "No talking! Silence! We're leaving!"

"What does my name mean to you?" asked Thorin.

Boromir grinned broadly and then turned to look at me. I tugged on his arm, trying to move him to the exit, but my little muscles were no match for Boromir's solid stance. It was like a little baby monkey trying to move a massive boulder. It just didn't work.

"So this is Thorin?" asked Boromir.

"Nope," I said. "Just a random dwarf."

"You called him Thorin earlier," said Boromir.

"I mistook him. You know dwarves, they all look the same. Short with long beards. Except of Kili. He can't grow a beard for some reason."

"It will grow soon!" cried Kili from his spot at the table.

I ignored him. "But Thorin isn't here. Just his look alike. His look alike Thor…an. Thoran. They look and sound really similar and sometimes they pretend to be the same person, but they're actually really different. Thoran is more of a party animal and Thorin is just pure majesticness."

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at Thorin. "He doesn't look that majestic."

I gasped and let go of Boromir's arm. "What did you just say? Did you just call Thorin unmajestic? This is Thorin we're talking about! He is the definition of majestic! If you go look up majestic in the dictionary—you won't find an explanation, you'll just find Thorin's picture! Don't give me this bullshit about Thorin not being majestic. You're just jealous of his majesticness and your lack of majesty in comparison to him. T's okay to be jealous, we are all overwhelmed by Thorin's majesty at some point. But to utter such blasphemy! We are no longer friends!"

"Ah," said Boromir. "So you admit that he is Thorin."

I blinked. "What? No! That's Thoran. Thor_an_. There's an a in there!"

Boromir turned back to Thorin and grinned at him. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the dwarf king that I have heard so much about."

"No talking!" I cried, grabbing hold of Boromir's arm again. "I forbid it! You will bring about the end of the world! The apocalypse! The apocalypse!"

"What have you heard about me?" asked Thorin. He looked ready to cut off heads.

"Only what Ana has told me,' said Boromir. "Mostly when she was drunk."

Thorin turned to me and snorted.

"This isn't my fault!" I wailed. "Don't look at me like that!" I glanced at Boromir. "Thoran!"

Boromir tried to muffle his laughter.

"I am exceedingly confused as to what is occurring here," said Beorn.

"Unnatural things," said Bofur.

"No talking!" I cried.

"Why can we not talk?" asked Bilbo.

I took a deep breath and somehow managed to spew out and explanation. "Boromir is from your world but he's from the future of your world and he's heard the future Bilbo's stories about what happens to Thorin and Company and Boromir might let something slip and he's not from this time—he hasn't even been born yet and this is going to have disastrous consequences and I don't know what will happen so don't say anything and Boromir and I need to leave now, understand, Boromir?"

Boromir stared at me. "What?"

Skip.

Boromir and I were sitting on the couch in my living room. Nick sat on the other side of the couch, sipping a cup of coffee and watching some TV show. He look up and smiled at our arrival, completely calm.

"You could have been a little concerned!" I cried,

"You don't usually get this worked up," said Nick.

"We could have messed things up terribly! We went to the wrong time period! I brought a member of the Fellowship to meet the Company! That could have ended terribly!"

"I found it to be quite amusing," said Boromir. He frowned at the TV. "What is this contraption?"

"A box that shows stories through pictures," said Nick. "I'm watching _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_."

"What is it about?" asked Boromir. He took a sip of his coffee. "Bleh. Ana, this drink does not taste good at all." He frowned at the TV. "Is she trying to kill that vampire or are they dancing? Her fighting seems very inefficient."

"She's a bit of a show off," said Nick.

I stood in my living room, gawping at the two men sitting on my couch. For a moment, I debating yelling at them. Then, I rolled my eyes and collapsed in the arm chair next to the couch. Whatever.

* * *

**A/N: All reviews are loved and appreciated and welcome!**


	30. The Adorable Spider Monkeys

**A/N: The chapter title is misleading.**

**Please review!**

* * *

**XXX: The Adorable Spider Monkeys**

Boromir stayed in Ohio for about a week. I remember that week well. The first day—a Thursday in autumn—he refused to go outside. He was certain the skyscrapers would fall down upon him and crush him like a bug. He spent the day watch TV dramas with Nick. By some miracle, I still had a job, and I had to go to work that day. After making sandwiches for lines of complaining, bitter customers, I went home to find that Nick and Boromir were still sitting on my couch.

So, when Friday came along, I insisted Boromir get out of my apartment. Nick suggested that Boromir wear some normal clothes. But the moment he put on the t-shirt and jeans leant to him, Boromir complained that they were itchy and strange. He refused to wear anything other than his equally strange clothing from Middle Earth. The, the three of us went to Starbucks, where I tried to teach Boromir to love coffee. (I cannot be friends with someone who does not love coffee.) Unfortunately, Boromir's and my friendship ended that day. His hatred for anything remotely coffee tasting continued. Then, Nick, being Nick, decided to buy Boromir some chocolate. Boromir swore that it was the best thing he had ever tasted.

Coffee is better than chocolate. Just saying.

I was working Saturday and Sunday, so the time I spent with Boromir and Nick was limited. I think they spent Saturday on the couch watching the next season of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ and then Sunday was spent at the nearest bar. Boromir soundly defeated Nick in a drinking competition. Monday, we all went to the bar and Nick and Boromir both beat me soundly in a drinking competition.

Tuesday, I wanted to take Boromir bowling. (So he could know that I was good at _something_.). Unfortunately, after about two rounds Boromir figured out how to bowl properly. Damn, he had some skill with a ball and pins. Nick had a good laugh at my expense. He had found someone who could actually beat me at bowling. Without cheating.

Then, Wednesday rolled around and we went to the zoo. Nick did _not_ want to go to the zoo. He had been to the zoo many times with me before. The trips usually went like this—I'd head straight for the monkey section and spend a good three hours just watching the monkey until Nick got so bored and carried me away from the adorable monkeys. Boromir, of course, had no idea what he was in for when I suggested we go to the zoo. Nick and Karen came along(much to my horror).

"The animals are in cages?" asked Boromir.

"It's so the lions don't get too hungry and decide that cute little kid would make a tasty snack," I said.

"I don't think that's the complete reason," said Nick. "It's also for their protection—"

"Nope," I said, cutting across Nick. "My explanation is the best. We're sticking with it."

Karen was eyeing Boromir suspiciously. He was still dressed in full medieval clothes (sword and everything). To this day, I cannot explain how we got him past security and into the zoo. My excuse was that he was a devoted renaissance fan and his sword was a fake. Yes, the security actually believed me and let Boromir through. I know. I'm at a loss for words too.

"So what should we see first?" asked Nick.

"The lions," said Karen eagerly.

"Boring," I said. "Let's go see the monkeys."

"I like the lions," sad Nick. He turned to Boromir. "What do you want?"

"I do not know," said Boromir. "Do you have any Kine of Araw here?"

We all stared at Boromir blankly. Nick and I exchanged nervous glances and then burst out laughing.

"That's a good one," I said, patting Boromir on the back. "Tell it again. Tell it again!"

"My sides hurt!" cried Nick.

Karen frowned. "I don't get it."

"I do not understand either," said Boromir. "What is so amusing?"

"You are," I said. "Alright." I stood up right. "Let's go see the monkeys!"

I started towards the monkey enclosure, but Nick caught me by the collar of my shirt and dragged be backwards towards the group.

"We'll see the monkeys last," said Nick. "Karen wants to see the lions."

I pouted, sticking out my bottom lip. I followed Nick as he led the way across the zoo to look at the boring lions. Karen did not seem all that thrilled by the lion; she preferred to hold Nick's hand and start up muttered conversation with him. I spent most of the zoo trip making faces behind Karen's back while Boromir either made sarcastic remarks about my stupidity or stared at the animals in wide-eyed wonder.

"What are these beasts called?" asked Boromir, pointing into the enclosure. "Their coats are magnificent."

"Zebras," I said. "They're pretty awesome. But not as awesome as monkeys. Can we go see the monkeys yet?"

"No," said Nick.

"I'm thirsty," said Karen, still clinging to Nick's hand. "Can you get me some lemonade?"

"Sure thing," said Nick. He released her hand and started towards the refreshment's stand.

"What is this lemonade?" asked Boromir. "Is it refreshing?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Come on. I'll treat you."

Curious, Boromir followed Nick to the refreshment's stand. I watched them for a second. Boromir was so out of his element that it was almost comical. He really had no idea what was going on. Nick laughed a lot—as Nick always does. It was good though. They were both a live and whole. Nick had survived goblin town and Boromir had survived the orcs. It was good.

I leaned against the enclosure fence. "I should have asked for some lemonade."

"I'm sure what's-his-name will share with you," said Karen.

"What's-his-name?"

"The renaissance guy."

"Oh." I laughed. "Do you really believe he's a renaissance guy?"

Karen shot me a deadly glare. "I'm not stupid."

"Really?" I sounded genuinely surprised.

"You and Nick know something about Boromir. Something you won't tell. He's not a renaissance guy. Maybe he's a foreigner, but there's no reason to hide that. No. There's something else going on here."

I glanced at Karen. "And you haven't asked?"

"Why?" she asked. "If Nick thought it important to me, he would have told me."

"That's true," I said. "It's not his secret to tell."

"Whose secret is it then?" asked Karen.

I smiled and drummed my fingers against the railing. "Mine, I guess. And Boromir's."

"Exactly," said Karen. "I know Nick. I have absolutely nothing to do with you and what's-his-name. So your secrets are none of my business." Karen turned her head to check and see if the guys had gotten the lemonade yet.

I stared at her for a moment, a frowned fixed on my face.

"They're coming," said Karen.

"You know," I said. "I severely misjudged you."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Karen blinked "Why

"For all the times I called you a bitch."

Her confusion turned into annoyance. "Why did you call me a bitch?"

"Don't feel special or anything," I said. "I call all of Nick's girlfriends bitches. He has really bad taste in girlfriends. But, you know, you're not half bad. I might not mind it if Nick dates you. Maybe."

Karen glowered at me. The words "seething hatred" seemed to be dripping from her gaze. "You told _Nick_ I was a bitch?"

"And advised him to break up with you," I said, nodding. "But I'm changing my mind now."

"You _what_?"

"We come," said Nick. "Bearing lemonade!"

I pushed off from the wall with the palms of my hands and bounced across the ground to take a plastic cup from Nick. "You got one for me too!"

"I didn't want you to feel left out," said Nick. He turned to Karen. "I got you one too."

"She called me a bitch!" cried Karen.

Nick turned to me. "Did you really just call my girlfriend a bitch?"

"Not recently," I said. "I told her that I used to tell you she was a bitch and you should break up with her all the time, but now I realize she isn't that bad. You shouldn't break up with her, Nick. Though, she is over reacting right now. I mean, it's the same as someone admitting that they used to run around naked in the streets, but _they don't anymore_. It's one of those crazy things where you're like—hey, you used to do that? Cool, I guess. Bu you don't do it anymore. Alright, whatever's cool with you."

Karen stared at me.

"I'd be creeped out if someone told me they used to run around the streets naked," said Nick, handing Karen her lemonade. "Even if it was _only_ in the past."

"This thing called lemonade," said Boromir suddenly. "Is rather good. It has a sweet taste, but also a sour taste. It is quite bizarre." He took another sip of the lemonade. "It is much better than that murk brown substance that Ana gave to me."

"Hey!" I cried. "Don't you be dissing coffee right in front of me."

"It's okay," said Nick, patting Boromir on the shoulder. "We all like lemonade more than coffee. Ana is just, you know, Ana."

"It's coffee!" I cried. "How can you dislike coffee?"

"You can keep your coffee for yourself," said Boromir. "But I wish I could take some of this lemonade back with me."

I frowned. "You don't have to go back."

A sort of awkward silence settled about the four of us. Karen looked off in the distance, pretended she couldn't hear anything we said. Nick kept glanced back and forth between Boromir and me. The two of us were glaring at one another.

"I do," said Boromir. "I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

"You'll die."

Karen twitched, but didn't say anything.

"You do not know that for certain."

"I know it for almost certain."

"You cannot change the future, Ana."

"I've already done it."

Boromir shook his head. "If I must die for the sake of our task, then I will willingly do so. You have no right to interfere."

"But I do!" I cried. "I'm your friend! Doesn't that count for anything? I want you to live! I don't get a say?"

"How can you understand? It is not your world!"

I stopped. Boromir stopped too. We just stood there, staring at one another in a darkening silence. Neither one of us moved an inch. To my right, Nick was sipping his lemonade noisily through a straw. To my left, Karen was running her fingers along the metal railing of the enclosure, refusing to look at anyone in particular.

I took a deep breath. "I want to see the monkeys!"

Boromir blinked. He looked taken aback by the sudden change in direction. He glanced at both Karen and Nick for help, but they both leapt on my statement.

"The monkeys sound great," said Karen.

"Just don't crazy like last time," said Nick.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said cheerfully.

I led the way across the zoo to the monkey section. The first enclosure you come upon is the spider monkeys. Now, to set the record straight, spider monkeys are my fifth favorite type of monkey. (They would have been fourth, but their name contains the word 'spider' and I really don't like spiders.) So, instead, my fourth favorite monkey is the baboon. (Blue butts for the win!) My third favorite monkey is the pygmy marmoset. (It's so cute!) Second favorite is the golden snub-nosed monkey. (They're faces are blue! Friggin' blue!) My favorite monkey is, of course, the orangutan. The amount of amusement I get from orangutan's… Well, let's put it this way. If I could watch orangutans all the time, there would be no need for the internet or TV.

"Look! Look!" I cried, pointing into the enclosure. "The monkey is eating! Isn't he so cute"

"It's a monkey," said Nick. "Eating."

"It's adorable!" I cried.

"Still just a monkey," said Nick. "Calm down."

"It is really cute," said Karen.

"Don't encourage her," said Nick. "She really can stand here for hours and watch the spider monkeys just eat or sleep."

"So these are the monkeys of which you speak so often," said Boromir. He squinted at the spider monkeys. "They are, indeed, sort of adorable."

"They're adorable and acrobatic," I said. "Those long arms of theirs—they can swing around and do flips and, and, and it's just incredible!"

"Here she goes," said Nick.

"Look at them, all sleeping together. Spider monkeys in the wild do a similar thing. At night, when it's time to go to sleep, they'll split into group of around thirty and sleep all together. But then during the day, they split up into smaller groups and go forage for food. Spider monkeys live in south Mexico all the way to Columbia, but their numbers are dwindling because of the destruction of their forest homes! Their population has shrunk by twenty percent in the last two years. That and they are often hunted for food by the local populations!"

"Someone stop her," said Boromir.

Nick sipped his lemonade. "There's no stopping her now."

"Their Latin names is Ateles, but everyone calls them spider monkeys because of their long limbs. They're one of the New World's biggest monkeys. They don't seem all that big compared to gorillas and orangutans, but they really are quite large. But even then, still acrobatic. They—"

I Skipped.

"Well," said Nick. "That's one way to stop her."

(I don't actually know if he said that. He claims he did, but I kind of suspect he thought of that later and only wished that he had said it. And, after all, Karen was there. And she probably did not think my random disappearance was very funny.

Anyway, all that doesn't matter. I was no longer in Ohio with Karen and Nick and Boromir. I was standing in the middle of a forest. Browning leaves littered the ground. The trees had a sort of grayish-brown bark. It was rich and filled with life. These trees were younger than those in Fangorn, with a sort of eagerness for the winter. They had cast aside their leaves and were already bracing themselves for the cold.

I stood atop a sloping hill. Looking down, I could see the young trees, their fallen leaves, and the occasional gray boulder all around. There were no people. Just me. Alone.

At least, I had not brought Boromir with me. I would not bring him anywhere to die. He could stay in Ohio. He could live in my apartment and get a job. He'd find a nice girl in Ohio—there are plenty of nice girls in Ohio. And as long as he never Skipped back to Middle Earth with me, we'd be good. Boromir could live.

So why did that idiot want to come back to Middle Earth so much?

I started walking down the slope. The leaves made the ground slippery and it was more of a shuffle down the hill than a walk. Eventually, I gave up trying to control my trip and I just ran down hill and full speed. I skidded to a halt in front of a particularly nasty looking rock.

"Ana!"

I spun around just in time to see three figures sprinting towards the trees towards me. Their weapons were drawn and they were gasping for breath. Gimli came to a halt next to me, panting heavily. Legolas came to a smooth stop. Aragorn barely stopped moving. His eyes flickered left, right, all directions, searching and listening.

"Have you seen the hobbits, lassie?" asked Gimli.

"Hobbits?" I shook my head. "No. I just got here. Where are they?"

"The do not know," said Legolas. "We were ambushed by orcs. We cannot find the hobbits or Boromir."

"Boromir?"

"He went out in search of firewood," said Legolas. "And has not been seen since."

I took a deep breath. Oh God, I knew where in time I was. This was the forest where Boromir had tried to take the Ring from Frodo. Only Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli did not know that.

"Where are the hobbits?" I asked.

"We do not know,' said Legolas. "We were scattered when the orcs attacked. The only ones we can find our ourselves."

Aragorn twitched, as if something had caught his attention. He stood still for a moment, listening. The rest of us watched him. Then, Aragorn leapt into action. He sprinted through the forest to some unknown destination. Legolas hurried after him. Gimli and I managed to sprint too, though out sprints were more like waddling ducks. Gimli ran faster than me and soon I was far behind the rest of them, just trying to keep their backs in view.

Suddenly, Aragorn stopped running. He came to a halt between two arching trees. Legolas stopped beside him. Gimli came plodding along. I did not know what they say, but it made Gimli freeze. I heard a low sort of a moan and there was a screeching cry.

I slowed to a walk and approached the scene as gradually as possible. I didn't want to see. I would rather never know what happens. I would rather remain ignorant. I would rather stay in Ohio with Nick, Karen, and Boromir. That would be best. I could forget about Middle Earth and just live a normal life. Forget it all.

I stepped in between Aragorn and Legolas. And this is what I saw:

There was blood. Lots of blood. Two mangled corpses lay on the ground. The one closest to us was Merry. His eyes were wide open, staring up through the treetops to the blue sky above. About a dozen orc arrows protruded from his chest and stomach. He looked like a porcupine. His arms and legs were spread out around him. One arm was missing a hand and one leg was cut short around the knee.

Another body lay a few feet away. It took me a minute to realize whose body it was. His fate had been more gruesome. It was as though a dozen orcs had just hacked at him, swinging their weapons about without any care as to what they hit and what they took. Pippin's face had been slashed open. Blood covered his eyes and his lips had been busted open.

Blood stained the autumn leaves.

I clasped a hand to my mouth and gagged. It was terrible. The blood. The destruction. The death. The sight, the smell, the thought. It was making me sick. My legs gave out beneath me and I collapsed to the ground, coughing and choking. Dead. Dead. Dead. But I had saved them. I had stopped them from going through the Gap of Rohan. They should live now. They should be taken by the orcs. Taken to Isengard to be interrogated by Saruman. But they should escape the orcs and flee to Fangorn, where they would meet Treebeard. _So why are they dead_?

I felt a sturdy hand n my shoulder. I tilted my head to the side and rested my cheek against the hand. Salty tears were streaming down my cheeks. This wasn't right. This wasn't right. It's not supposed to turn out this way.

Legolas returned (I had not noticed him leave). Aragorn looked at Legolas, a glimmer of faint hope in his eyes, but Legolas gravely shook his head.

"I have found Frodo and Sam," said Legolas. "But no news is good."

"Show me," said Aragorn.

"I want to see too," I said, getting to my feet.

Aragorn hesitated. "It might be better if you stayed here."

"I want to see."

For a moment, I thought Aragorn would blatantly refuse me, but then he nodded once. "Very well."

Legolas led the way through the trees. We moved much more slowly this time. Walking. Dreading. We did not want to see the fate that had befallen the hobbits. Gimli was crying. Fat tears dripped down his cheeks and watered his beard. Legolas remained calm and collective, murmuring a prayed in elvish under his breath. Aragorn looked haggard and worn, as if his age were finally showing. None of us wanted to see what was next. And yet, we had to see.

Legolas led us onto a stone beach. Our feet stumbled awkwardly on the uneven surface. The white boats given to the Fellowship by Lady Galadriel had been pulled up onto the shore and hidden by some bushes. We stepped past the hidden boats and saw the horrific scene.

Frodo and Sam had died together. Their bodies were intertwined into a mess of limbs and blood. At some points it was hard to separate Frodo from Sam.

Aragorn stepped forward. A haunted look crossed his face as he unwillingly inspected the bodies.

"They took the Ring."

So much blood. So much death. But it shouldn't happen this way. Frodo and Sam should reach Gondor. They should not be dead. This was wrong. All wrong. All wrong. Why was this happening?

"Where is Boromir/" asked Aragorn.

And then it hit me.

Oh yes. It hit me full force. The horror of what I had done.

A wrangled cry broke through my throat and I buried my face in my hands, letting the hot tears flow down my face without reserve. Everything hurt. My eyes, my throat, my nose, my arms, my legs, my chest. It all ached. I felt tired. So tired. Yet at the same time my throat was on fire. The wailing broke through my throat, blistering and heavy. I cried and cried and yet, there were not tears that could let me escape.

And then, I Skipped.

I knelt outside the monkey cages. My face was still buried in my hands and the tears would not stop. Someone touched my shoulder and I left my head to see Nick.

"Ana? Are you alright?"

I shook my head. "They're dead. They're all dead."


	31. The Breaking

**XXXI: The Breaking**

"Ana! Ana! Stop crying! Who's dead Who's dead?"

Nick was frantic. He kept trying to hug me and pull me to my feet all at the same time. I couldn't move. Tears flowed freely and my entire body was wracked with sobs. I felt like collapsing to the ground and curling up in a ball and never standing up again. Standing was too difficult. Too impossible. I couldn't do it. Not now. Not ever.

"Ana!"

People were staring. The monkeys were staring. I didn't care. They were dead. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. The Ring was lost. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

"Ana."

Two strong arms picked me up from the ground and placed me in a standing position. I stared at Boromir and he stared back at me. His face was set in the same grave expression. Stubborn jaw, firm gaze, not even a quiver of fear. I, on the other hand, I was shaking. My hands would not stay still. My lips were trembling, my voice wavered, ever inch of me was filled with the pale touch of fear.

"They were dead," I whispered. "Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo. The orcs killed them. The orcs killed them and took the Ring."

"How could this happen?" asked Boromir.

The tears tasted like salt, burning the corner of my mouth. I swallowed and found that I could only speak in a hoarse whisper. "Because you were not there to die for them."

Boromir closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt so far away. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to, and yet, I could not. The foot distance between us was too much.

Boromir opened his eyes. There was a new resolve in them.

"I have to return," he said. "I have to die."

* * *

The car ride home was silent. Nick drove and, for once in his life, he did not drive like a maniac. Karen sat beside him, her head bowed. The radio was off and the only sound was that of the car racing past us on the highway. Boromir sat at the back of the car on opposite sides. We did not look at each other. Boromir kept staring out the window at the city. I stared at the floor of the car, counting the lint balls that had gathered under the seat.

I remember silently praying to myself. Never let me feel this pain again. Never. I only wanted a happy life. I want to go to school. I wanted to get a job. I wanted to marry a cute guy and grow old with him. I didn't want this. I didn't want to be the _Senturiel_. I didn't want to spend my life Skipping back and forth between the worlds. I didn't want to meet these people and know their fates. I just wanted to be left alone.

And yet, here I was. Face to face with the fact. Boromir was meant to die. His death saved the hobbits. And the hobbits needed to live for the sake of Middle Earth. I couldn't change that. Boromir, my beloved best friend, had to die for the sake of saving Middle Earth. I could not control the Skip. I did not even know if I would end up in the right place, but I had to try. I had to find a way. I would just have to pray that the _Senturiel_ could help.

I closed my eyes. No. He wasn't going to die. I promised Faramir that I would save Boromir, even if it meant abandoning Middle Earth to its fate. I promised. I promised. I promised.

I had never felt so tired in my life.

"We can stop at Starbucks," said Nick.

I swear, we all jumped a foot in the air.

"What?" I asked. My voice came out a deep croak.

"Starbucks," said Nick. "There's one on the way back to your apartment. Do you want some coffee?"

I blinked. "Coffee."

"It is that disgusting black substance that you enjoy so much," said Boromir.

"I know what coffee is," I snapped. "Why would I…" I trailed off. Nick was driving, but I could hear the earnestness in his voice. Boromir was looking at me. There was a faint smile toying at his lips. Somehow, I managed a smile back. "Coffee sounds good."

A couple minutes later, Nick pulled into the drive through of Starbucks. "What does everyone want?" he asked.

"Mocha cappuccino," said Karen without hesitation.

"I want something with no coffee, but has chocolate," said Boromir.

"So…hot chocolate?" asked Nick.

"That exists?"

"Seriously?" said Karen, turning around in her seat. "What planet are you from?"

"Where am I from?" asked Boromir. "I am from Gondor."

Karen stared at him for a second and then said, "Gondor? Never heard of it." And then she sat back down in her seat and faced the front.

Boromir opened his mouth to explain to her the long and proud history of Gondor, but I prodded him in the ribs. I smiled at him. He stopped himself before he began lecturing Karen and grinned back at me.

Nick rolled the car forward to the speaker box and told the Starbucks employee our order. (He was treating—I love it when guys treat.) We got our drinks from the window and sipped them in silence Nick turned on the country music station and on the way home, Karen and I begged him to change it.

And then, we returned to my apartment.

"Here," said nick, putting the car in park.

"Yeah." Through the dirtied window, I stared up. I could see the ledge of the roof. God, I didn't want to go back up there.

"Let's go." Karen pushed open his car door and everyone followed his lead. It felt as though Karen was driving us forward. The rest of us did not want to take a step closer to the apartment. She led the way up the five flights of stairs and to my apartment. I stared at the lock for a good two minutes before Karen reminded me that the door was not going to open itself.

I opened the door and we stepped inside. I closed the door behind me.

"I call bathroom," said Nick, heading to the back room.

"What ought I to do with my cup?" asked Boromir.

"Ana, you need to clean your apartment," said Karen.

I stared at them all for a long moment. Mainly at Boromir. He stood in the kitchen doorway, holding his Styrofoam cup and waiting for my answer.

"Trashcan." The word came out a croak.

Karen glanced at me and then quickly took it upon herself to start cleaning my apartment. She threw my dirty clothes (and my clean clothes) that were lying on the floor into a pile and placing the stray books on the bookshelves (ruining my—somewhat—alphabetical order).

I watched her for a second as the tears started to well up in my eyes. I wiped the away with the back of my hand, but they just kept coming back.

"Ana…" Boromir stepped forward. "Do not cry."

"You don't have to go," I said. "You don't have to go. You can stay here and get a job and start a new life. I'll even let you live with me even though you don't like coffee. We can just forget. We can just forget about Middle Earth and never think about it again. You don't have to go back."

Boromir placed his hands on my shoulders. "You cannot ever forget about Middle Earth. You say that now, but you will only Skip back to Middle Earth and witness the death and destruction my absence has caused."

"I'll be fine," I said. My nose was dripping with tears and snot. "You don't have to go back."

"I cannot ever forget about Middle Earth either," said Boromir. "My people depend on the fate of the Ring. I cannot abandon my father, my brother, and my city. I cannot abandon the Fellowship for some selfish desire to live."

"No one will blame you."

"I have to return."

I didn't even bother to voice my protests. I just stood there, crying. I didn't even care how ugly I must have looked right then. All I could do was cry. So many things I wanted to say. So many things I wanted to change. And yet, I had not the power to change them.

"Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me."

Those seemed to be the only words I could managed through my sobbing.

Nick emerged from the bathroom and saw me weeping in front of Boromir. He turned to Karen and muttered, "I was gone for three minutes and she already has a meltdown?"

Karen shook her head and wrapped her arms around Nick's shoulders. He hugged her in return and they stood there silently. What could they say?

What could I say? What could Boromir say? He had made up his mind. I could not change it. And, despite my endless protests, a part of me probably would have forced Boromir to return to Middle Earth with me if he refused to go.

"We should depart now," said Boromir.

"Now?" I asked. Nick passed me a box of tissues and I wiped my face.

Boromir smiled. "I do not think I will have the heart to go if we wait too long."

Oh my God, I think that only made me cry harder.

I got a shower first and changed into more comfortable clothes. I made sure the Sword Breaker was tucked into my brown boots before I walked back out into the living room. Nick and Karen were sitting on the couch. Karen's head was resting on Nick's shoulder and they were holding hands. Boromir was pacing about the room, his head bent and his gazed fixed somewhere beyond my cramped apartment.

He looked up as I entered the room. "Are you prepared?"

"You know, I didn't water the begonias today." I turned around and headed for the porch.

Boromir caught me by the arm and rolled his eyes. "You are prepared."

"But the begonias…"

"I'll water them," said Nick.

I shot a venomous glare at Nick before I turned to face Boromir. "I'm ready."

Boromir nodded once. "How do we Skip?"

"I usually…" I took a deep, shaky breath. "I usually just wait for the Skip to come upon me, but there is a way. There is a way to force myself to Skip."

"And what is that way?" asked Boromir.

I opened my mouth to tell him, but found that no voice would come out. I tried again and failed again. Finally, I took Boromir by the hand and led him out of the apartment. Nick made to follow, but Karen caught him by the arm and shook her head. I let the door close behind us and I led Boromir up the next flight of stairs to the roof of my apartment building.

"We have to jump," I said.

Boromir stared at me. "What?"

"We have to jump off the roof," I said. "I Skip whenever my life is in danger."

Boromir inched towards the edge of the roof and peered down. He turned to me and said, "Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"Are you not afraid of heights?"

"It's the only way."

Boromir glanced down the ledge again. "Are you sure this is not the reason you are afraid of heights?"

"Maybe."

Boromir turned to me. He stared at me for a long time. "I am sorry."

"For what?" I asked. My voice was flat and emotionless.

"Ana."

I was crying again. "I love you. You're the best friend I could ever have and every second we spent together was one of the best things that could ever have happened to me. Even the times when I was drunk and I can't remember what happened. You're my best friend and I don't want you to die."

Boromir swallowed. "I must."

"And that sucks!"

I sprinted forward and flung my arms around Boromir's neck in a massive hug. Of course ,the force of my hug knocked Boromir and me off the roof of the building. The air rippled around us and then Skip.

We were lying on the forest floor amongst the fallen leaves. The naked trees towered over us, their spindly branches forming a sort of spider web across the sky.

"Where are we?" asked Boromir.

I sat up and looked around. "This is the forest where you tried to take the Ring from Frodo."

"We have returned, the," said Boromir.

"I'm surprised," I said. "I thought we'd have to Skip around a lot before we found the right place…"

Boromir got to his feet, brushing some leaves off his back. "Can you Skip back to your world?"

I shook my head. "I have no control. Besides, I want to see the end."

Boromir glanced over his shoulder at me. "You will cry."

"I'm always crying these days."

"You—"

Boromir grasped the handle of his sword and drew it. For a second, I thought he was going to run me through, but he pushed me aside and shoved the blade through the chest of an orc.

I stood there, gasping as I stared at the deformed, bluish-black face of the orc. His white eyes grew and shrunk and he let of a high pitched squeal. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed at Boromir's feet.

"Orcs," said Boromir. "Where one is, many more are sure to follow."

And then, we heard a scream. Boromir and I turned in the opposite direction. Through the trees we could see the shadows of hulking orcs and two small figures sprinting through the forest. Merry and Pippin were fleeing.

Do not hate me, but the first thought that ran through my mind was let them run. Don't go and save them. The second thought was the image of their corpses. The third thought was the image of Faramir telling me Boromir was dead. And then the fourth image was Boromir sprinting after Merry and Pippin, his sword drawn. I took and deep, shattering breath and sprinted after Boromir.

Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it.

Boromir swung his sword and sliced off the nearest orc's head. The other orcs came to a halt and turned to face Boromir. They gnashed their teeth and waved their sharpened blades.

I clasped my hands over my mouth.

Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it.

The first orc lunged to Boromir. Boromir blocked his attack and ran his blade through the orc's stomach. Purple orc blood splattered everywhere, but Boromir ignored the mess and swung his blade upwards to block the next attack.

Maybe Boromir would live. The orcs kept coming and he kept killing them. Soon there was a pile of orc corpses at his feet.

"Ana! Boromir!"

I spun around to see Merry and Pippin sprinting to the forest. A train of orcs followed behind them. Merry and Pippin rushed to my side, grabbing my arms and trying to drag me along with them. I could only stare at the orcs running through the forest. There were more of them. More of them for Boromir to fight.

The closest orc drew his sword high above his head. He stared at me, his red eyes flashing with the lust of battle. He was going to kill me. He was going to cleave me into two pieces. I could see it in his bloody eyes.

"Ana!"

Boromir leapt forward and drove his sword into the orc's neck. The orc let out high pitched scream as Boromir wrenched the sword out of the orc's neck and turned to stab another orc's thigh.

"Ana! Do not just stand there!" roared Boromir.

I blinked and then pulled the Sword Breaker out of my boot. I spun around just in time to see an orc bringing his blade down. I lifted the sword breaker and caught the orc's blade between the teeth and twisted. The blade flew free of the orc's hand and went skirting across the forest floor. Then, I turned tailed and ran away from the orc. (I was learning how to use the Sword Breaker effectively.)

Behind me, Merry and Pippin were using their daggers to fight the orcs. They managed to slay a few, but Boromir was doing most of the work. His sword flashed in all directions, killing orcs left and right.

And yet, it felt as though we were making no difference in their numbers. The orcs just kept coming.

Boromir drew out his horn and let out to long, loud blows.

More orcs came. One nicked my shoulder and I cried out in pain as blood dripped from the wound. Boromir leapt forward and sliced off the orcs hand. I clutch my weapon. I could not be the reason Boromir died.

More orcs. More orcs. They kept coming. Boromir blew the horn again. Nothing. More orcs. More orcs. More orcs. Where were Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli? Why weren't they helping? Just orcs. Orcs. Orcs. Orcs. We were trying so hard. All of us. Boromir, Merry, Pippin, and me. We just wanted to live. And yet, there were so many orcs. And they just wanted us to die.

An arrow.

That's what I remember.

A long, heavy, black arrow pierced through the air and embedded itself in Boromir's chest.

His eyes grew very wide and he staggered to the side.

I screamed.

I thought it was over. That was it. He was done.

But Boromir stood up again, gripping the handle of his sword so tightly that his fingers turned white. He swung the blade and took off the head of another orc.

A second arrow.

If I did not see it embedded in Boromir's abdomen, I would have though the arrow had pierced me instead. It hurt. It hurt so much.

He collapsed to his knees. He took two shaking breaths and then stood up again. He blocked an orc's attacks and then drove the sword through the orc's heart.

A third arrow.

I had stopped moving. I think the world had stopped moving. The orcs seemed not to notice me anymore. Or the hobbits. Everything was focused on Boromir and the three black arrows protruding from his chest.

A fourth arrow.

Boromir could not stand up anymore. The orcs scooped up Merry and Pippin and slung the hobbits over their shoulders. I could not move. My eyes were fixed on Boromir.

The massive orc bearing the bow stepped forward until he was only a few feet away from Boromir. The orc drew his bow, prepared to fire the finishing blow.

Boromir stared at the orc. There was no hesitation in his eyes. His proud determination would not budge an inch. He knew what was going to happen next. He knew he was going to die.

The orc released the arrow.

I Skipped.


	32. Dwarves Come To The Rescue

**XXXII: Dwarves Come To The Rescue**

I sat beneath a tree, my knees pulled up to my chest and my forehead resting on the tops of my knees. I don't know how much time I sat there for. A long time, I suppose. Time slips by more slowly when you're grieving. Or maybe it slips by faster. It feel as though it takes forever, as if every moment drips by endless, but then, when you stop grieving and look at the clock, you realize that time has raced by you and you've missed your life.

I sat beneath that grizzled tree for what felt like a few long, agonizing minutes, but was probably a few long, agonizing hours.

All I could see what Boromir. His laughing face. His angry face. His sad face. His determined face. Right before the orc fired the arrow. Boromir. Faramir. I promised Faramir. What happened to that? Who was I kidding? I couldn't save anyone. I couldn't even save myself. Where was I going? Where was I headed? Was I going to spend my life half in Ohio and half in Middle Earth? Was I going to end up insane like the man who first possessed the _Senturiel_?

The forest was diseased. The trees were crooked, their branches twisting and turning, reaching for something that was not there to grasp. The group seemed to sag under some unseen weight. A heavy mist had settled about, curling around the trees and rocks and leaves. It clung to everything like a thick sickness.

I felt at home right then. Amongst the decay and the destruction, I found company. Given the choice, I would have stayed there amongst the dying forest and died with it.

But the world did not want that.

My grieving came to an abrupt end with the arrival of dwarves.

"Who is there?"

"Calm down, Ori. It is only Ana."

"Hello, Ana!"

I did not move. My head remained buried against my knees. I refused to look at the dwarves. I refused to look at anything. I wanted to stay there, as far away from the world as I could get. The dwarves were not helping with my wish.

"Ana?"

"Is she dead?"

"No. She is breathing. Dead people do not breathe."

"That we know of."

One of the dwarves prodded my shoulder. "She is not responding."

"I do not think that she wants to be bothered," said Bilbo, his little high-pitched voice distinct from the rest.

"But she is Ana. She always enjoys being bothered."

"Rather, she likes to be the one doing the bothering."

"So then, why is she not bothering us?"

"Because she is dead," said Oin.

"Perhaps she is sleeping."

"She is a very heavy sleeper."

"Should we wake her up?"

Another dwarf shook my shoulder roughly. I tried to ignore him, but the shaking was too much. Finally, I gave up pretending that I was dead. I lifted my head from my knees and stared at the beardless face of Kili. Kili immediately stopped shaking me. He took a step away from me and glanced nervously over his shoulder at Fili. Fili didn't notice. He was staring at me in mute horror. All the dwarves were.

I didn't know at the time what was it about me that had shocked all the dwarves. Though, Fili told me eventually.

I looked like hell. My eyes were red and puffy. They were almost swollen shut so my eyes were nothing more than slivers. My nose was pink and my cheeks were stained with the traces of tears. If ever there was a time that I looked ugly, it was then.

"What happened to you?" asked Gloin.

I didn't respond. There were no words.

"Ana?" Bilbo stepped forward. He did not seem to know whether to hug me or to say something to me or whether to do anything at all. After a moment, Bilbo stepped back amongst the others shaking his head.

"Thorin?" Kili asked. "What should we do?"

"We should move on," said Thorin gruffly. "We have places to be and we are pressed for time."

"What do you mean?" asked Dori. "We cannot leave her here."

Thorin stared at me for a good, long moment. I stared at the ground. A mushroom had turned brown, the top was deflated and watery.

"She is no use to us," said Thorin, turning away from me.

"We cannot leave her like this!" cried Ori.

"We do not even know if it is Ana," said Balin. "Look at her face. Ana's face is not so red and so puffy."

"If you look closely," said Nori. "She does resembled Ana."

Thorin sighed. "She is Ana."

"Then why is she not talking?" asked Bofur.

"He's dead."

The dwarves all turned to stare at me. I didn't look at any of them. My eyes remained fixed on the decaying mushroom. However, my mouth moved and I managed to find the will to keep on talking.

"I promised his brother that I would save him. And I tried to save him. I tried so hard. But, in the end, it was not that I couldn't save him, it was that he had to die."

"She speaks," said Balin.

Bofur knelt down on the ground next to me. He smiled, the ears of his hat flopping about. "You tried your best, Ana. No one can hate you for that."

"Why did he have to die?"

"Sometimes you cannot help these things," said Dori.

"But I can," I said. "I stopped it once. They all died and I changed it. So then, why could I not save him? Why did he have to die?"

The dwarves exchanged nervous glances. None of them seemed to find the words to answer me. But then, it was Thorin who spoke.

"You will find the answers," said Thorin.

I looked up at him. "What are the answers?"

"You will discover them," said Thorin. "Just not from me." He addressed the dwarves next. "We need to move on. It does not good to linger on the paths of Mirkwood."

"But what should we do about Ana?" asked Ori.

"Leave her," said Thorin. "She has her problems and we have ours."

Thorin continued to move. Kili, Fili, and Balin made to follow him, but the rest of the dwarves and Bilbo remained rooted to the spot. No one moved. I don't think anyone dared to breathe.

Thorin sighed. He turned around, marched back to where I stood. I glared down at me and, slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet his.

"You are annoying," said Thorin. Then he bent over and picked me up. I mean, really, he just picked me up—right off the ground—and slung me over his should like I was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Then, Thorin said, "Are you satisfied now? She is coming with us. Now let us move on."

Other dwarves stared, open-mouthed, as Thorin continued on down the path of Mirkwood, carrying me over his should. A couple of them (Fili and Kili) laughed and started after us. A few (Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Bilbo) exchanged confused glances before following. The rest just kind of trailed after us, unable to comprehend exactly what had just happened.

I, however, knew exactly what had just happened, and I was not happy about it. "Put me down! Thorin! Put me down! I am not a sack of potatoes that you can throw around at your will! I have feelings you know! This is undignified! You are going to turn around, right now, and put me down under that tree and leave me there to wallow in my suffering! Put me down!"

"You are a bother to my journey," said Thorin. "I cannot afford delay, so I must take the delay with me."

I pounded my fists on his back. "You stupid dwarf! You stupid, fat, ugly, old dwarf! I hate you! I hate you! When you die, I won't even try to save you! I'll just stand over your corpse and laugh. I'll laugh and laugh and laugh! Put me down!"

"Perhaps you should put her down," said Ori nervously. "She does not look happy."

"I think she looks so much more lively," said Bofur, smiling. "I like her best when she talks too much."

"Don't support Thorin!" I cried, pointing madly in the general direction of Bofur. "Tell him to put me down! I will not be treated like this! Do you hear me? I want to be left alone!"

Thorin sighed. "We should have left her under the tree. She was much quieter then."

"Why do you agree with me?" I screamed. "You're the one who's carrying me!"

"She is definitely not dead," said Dwalin, putting his hands over his ears.

"But she has returned to normal," said Fili. "Though she has not praised Thorin's majesty yet."

"Thorin!" I elbowed the back of his head. "I don't care how majestic you are! You can't do this!"

Fili grinned. "I stand corrected."

"I hate you! Don't you understand my suffering? Are you this heartless? What kind of king are you? You may be majestic, but you have no feelings!"

Thorin smirked. "Majesty is my only emotion."

"Arg! Don't use your majesty against me! It isn't funny!"

"You are just jealous of my majesty."

And then, suddenly, I was laughing and crying all at once. I rest my head against his back and buried my face in my hands. A shrieking laugh rose from within me and all of a sudden I was giggling and snickering and laughing all at once. And I was crying. God, how much I missed Boromir. God, how much I loved Thorin. God, how much I hated my life. God, how much I needed these dwarves. God, how much I wanted this to end. God, how much longer would this go on? God, why me Why me? Why me?

"I think she has quite lost her mind," said Bilbo.

"It's called majestic therapy," I said, still laughing and crying.

"Majestic what?" asked Nori.

"Do not ask," said Balin. "This is another one of her obscure references. Just nod and act like you know what she speaks of."

"I love you, Thorin," I said.

He grunted in response.

"I love you, Bilbo," I said.

"I love you too," said Bilbo hesitantly. He glanced around at the dwarves for help.

"I love you, Fili. I love you Kili."

"You are very filled with love today," said Fili.

"I love you too!" said Kili enthusiastically.

I giggled and tried to wipe away some of my tears. "I love you, Oin. I love you, Gloin. I love you, Ori. I love you, Dori. I love you, Nori."

"She has cracked," said Dori. "Like when you drop the egg and the yolk comes spilling out. She has quite cracked."

"I love you, Bifur. I love you, Bofur. I love you, Bombur."

"And I love you, Ana," said Bofur.

"I love you, Balin. I love you, Dwalin."

"How should I respond to this?" asked Balin.

Dwalin shrugged. "I do not understand what is happening."

I hiccupped and then laughed even harder. I couldn't stop crying. Suddenly, Thorin stopped walking. His arms wrapped around me and he lifted me off his shoulder and placed me on the ground. He stared at me, his blue eyes filled with intensity.

"Stop," he said.

I hiccupped again. "What?"

"Stop."

I wiped my eyes. "I can't."

"Stop. Now."

To this day, I don't know how I stopped crying. I really don't. I just remember Thorin glaring at me for a good few seconds. And then, suddenly, I stopped crying. I hiccupped once or twice more, but not another tear was shed.

"Good," said Thorin. "Now go ramble about something stupid."

He started walking again and the rest of the Company followed him. I stared at Thorin's back for a moment. Did he really just comfort me? (If you can cal that comforting…) Did Thorin really just stop me from crying? This was a thing unheard of.

And then, it struck me. (Don't look at me like that! I know it took awhile to sink it, but you have to understand that I was distraught at the time. What was going on did not really register with me.)

"Why am I here?" I asked.

Fili glanced over his shoulder at me and frowned. "We do not know why you are here. You just Skip here. One moment you are not here and the next you are."

"No, no, no," I said, shaking my head. "I Skipped here. But I shouldn't have Skipped here."

"Why should you not have Skipped here?" asked Balin.

"Because I was with the Fellowship in Middle Earth before this," I said. "I should be in Ohio right now. I always Skip from Ohio to Middle Earth back to Ohio back to Middle Earth back to Ohio back to Middle Earth. This time I Skipped form Middle Earth to Middle Earth. This should not happen!"

"You are only just realizing this now?" asked Thorin.

"I'm emotional distraught," I said. "My brain isn't working at full capacity right now. But this is wrong. This is wrong. Why is this happening?"

"Maybe you are coming here more often because you would rather be in Middle Earth," said Bofur.

I frowned. "But… I don't belong here."

"She has got that right," said Gloin. "Who else has lost enough of her mind to chase after Thorin and call him majestic?"

"No living being in Middle Earth," said Oin.

"Who in Middle Earth would be crazy enough to challenge a dwarf to a drinking competition?" asked Bombur.

"And who in Middle Earth would run around saying the word elf is synonymous with cheat," said Nori.

"But that is what makes her so entertaining,' said Ori.

"My point exactly," said Balin. "Is there some set of rules for me to read that describes the criteria to belong to Middle Earth? Please, show it to me."

"I do not believe there is one," said Bilbo

"You all are full of it," I sad, crossing my arms. "You're like turkey stuffing. You just keep on stuffing the damn turkey even though the turkey doesn't need stuffing more than it already is because the turkey already loves you guys so much and doesn't need anymore stuff to love you more than it already does."

"I do not understand a word she just said," said Kili.

"I think she just talked about herself as if she was a turkey," said Bofur.

"As it should be," said Fili. "The less we understand what Ana is talking about, the more normal life is."

I swear, I nearly started crying again. I didn't though, you'll be proud to know. I just stood there, grinning at the dwarves. They grinned back at me. And as I'm saying this now it sounds really cheesy to me, but I swear this is how it happened. We just stood there grinning at one another like idiots.

And then, I Skipped.

I've said this before and I'll say it again: My Skips have really bad timing!

* * *

**A/N: Please review. Both this chapter and the last. I really like to know what you think of my writing and my characters... And nice reviews just make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. So, please - review. **

**Thanks!**


	33. How To Properly Shop Lift

**XXXIII: How To Properly Shop Lift**

I was standing on the roof of my apartment building again. It was some time at night, the dull orange-black sky hazy overhead. There were no dwarves and no Boromir. Just me back home.

I turned around and headed across the roof for the stairwell.

"So, you're just disappearing and reappearing without explanation again."

I stopped, my hand resting on the door handle. I looked over my shoulder and saw the shadowed outline of Jack.

"Sorry," I said. "We seemed to have developed the same hang out spot."

"I wouldn't say you hang out."

Jack looked good. Still ridiculously cute. I'd like to think that the darkness was making him appear more adorable that he actually was, but, unfortunately, I knew that wasn't true. Damn those good-looking people.

"What are you doing, Ana?" asked Jack.

"The stars are pretty tonight," I said.

Jack looked up. "You can't see the stars."

"That's the idea." I opened the door and headed quickly down to stairwell. It was only when I reached the landing that I realized I had not even thought to bring my apartment key. Sighing, I tried the handle, not really expecting it to work. The door slipped open. I stared into my dark apartment, a nervous frowned fixed on my face. Did Karen and Nick forget to lock the door before they left?

I stepped inside apartment and closed the door sharply behind me. My hands fumbled for the light switch and—flash—illumination.

The apartment was much cleaner than how I remembered it. The laundry thrown all over was floor was placed in laundry baskets for cleaning. The dirty dishes on the coffee table were gone. And there were too figures sleeping on my couch, cuddling fondly. Nick lifted his head and blinked in the blinding light. Karen shifted uncomfortably, but remained asleep.

"You didn't leave?" I asked.

"You're back," said Nick. He slid off the couch, trying not to wake Karen up, but he ended up knocking her off the couch. Karen sat up and looked about wildly. She caught sight of m and smiled sleepily.

"You waited?" I asked.

"Should we not have?"

"There's no telling how long I could have been gone for," I said. "Could have been minutes, could have been months."

"I was cleaning your apartment," said Karen. "It looks a lot better now."

"Even the dishes?" I asked. "Impressive."

"Well, yeah," said Karen, getting to her feet. "I had to throw away some of the lost causes."

"Thanks," I said.

"Are you alright?" asked Nick. "You seem kind of…quiet."

I grinned at him. "What makes you think that? I'm as chirper as a songbird in the morning. The kind that sings ridiculously early in the morning and you're like shut up, you stupid bird, I'm trying to sleep, but the bird just looks at you for a second and keeps on singing. I'm that happy."

"You don't seem that happy," muttered Karen.

Nick elbowed her in the ribs. "So Boromir?"

I headed to the kitchen. It was spotless. All the dirty dishes had been cleaned and put away. All the trash had been thrown out and a new, clean bag was placed in the trashcan. I owed Karen big time for this.

"I want some coffee," I said. "I'm exhausted. Have you ever fought orcs? I've fought orcs. Absolutely crazy, you know. They're big and they're ugly and they know how to fight. I spent most of the time running away as fast as I could, but some times I had to fight. Thank God, Elladan gave me the Sword Breaker, or I would be dead meat right now."

"Um…" Karen glanced at Nick.

"It's done then," said Nick. "The Fellowship survived."

"Most of it," I said. "Merry and Pippin were carried off by orcs—they'll meet Treebeard soon enough. I didn't see Frodo and Sam, but I assume they're alive and headed for Mordor."

"And Boromir?"

"You know what," I said. "I don't want coffee. I'm going to bed."

"And Boromir?" asked Nick again.

"I think we should go," said Karen. She caught hold of Nick's arm and pulled him towards the door. Nick glanced back at me, but I was already far gone.

I think it was a week that passed before I Skipped again. Maybe two weeks. I don't know. My memory is hazy of that time. Basically, it was a week of mourning. I spent a lot of time sitting on my couch, drinking hot chocolate, and thinking of Boromir. My best friend. Gone. Just like that. God, life sucks.

Don't look at me like that! I'm not suicidal or anything of the sorts. I like living too much for that. I just, you know, I didn't want to be in Ohio right then. If that makes sense. I didn't want to be in Earth. I didn't want to be in Middle Earth either. I didn't think I could face the Fellowship after that. I would take one look at Aragorn or Legolas or Gimli or Merry or Pippin or Frodo or Sam and I would burst out in tears. And, well, you can imagine, that would be the most awkward thing in the world. They would think I've gone insane!

Okay, okay, yeah, I know. They already think I've gone insane.

Anyway, I'll give you the brief version of my mourning period. I woke up. Drank some coffee and stared out the window. Went to work (because I somehow managed to keep a job for this long). Came home. Drank hot chocolate and moped about. Went to bed and moped about before I fell asleep.

Yeah. That lasted for a week or two.

Nick tried to help me. He and Karen came to visit every other day, but I wasn't really in the talking mood. They didn't know what to do about my unhappiness. That was, of course, until Karen came up with the brilliant idea to take me shopping.

Hey—who am I to say no to a shopping trip?

We spent the morning scourging the stores while my wallet burned a whole in my pocket. I bought some new shirts, some new jeans, and a new purse. And then, to Karen's delight, we headed into Victoria's Secret.

I've never been a cute underwear type of girl. Probably because I Skip so much and it isn't practical to be wearing lacey pink bras while running away from orcs. Karen, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled with the sale going on at Victoria's Secret. She fawned over the cheap(ish) leopard print bras, red polka-dot underwear, and, um, whatever that was.

"Isn't it so cute!" cried Karen, holding up a bra for me to see.

"It's zebra print," I said.

"Well, duh," said Karen. "That's why it's cute.

I shook my head. "It's not my thing. My friend, Bonnie, won't wear any underwear unless it's zebra print. It's hilarious. We went to the zoo one time and she got all excited because she matched the zebras."

"Okay…" Karen handed me the zebra print bra and then wandered over to some other underwear drawer to fawn over lacey panties.

I watched her for a second and then lifted the zebra print bra to eye level and inspected it. Pink lace on the edges. Sufficient amount of padding. It was a B cup. Hey! How small did Karen think my chest was!?

"You!"

I lowered the bra and frowned, trying to figure out who had called me name. And then it struck me. I was no longer standing in Victoria's Secret. I was in a tavern. Men were seated at tables, holding their ales and staring at me in confusion. A barmaid was holding a tray of empty beer mugs. All eyes were on me. And, at the far end of the tavern, stood several soldiers.

One soldier, taller than all the others, stepped forward. He pointed at me rather viciously, his eyes narrowed. "You! I remember you!"

I stared at him for a few seconds. Recognition. He was Eomer, the nephew of the king of Rohan and the man who caught me running through Middle Earth naked after I Skipped in the shower. Oh, I remember him well. And, apparently, so did he.

"Hi."

I threw the bra in Eomer's face and ran for my dear life.

I jumped through the open window of the tavern and fell out into the mucky street below. I leapt up, sending mud and straw flying in all directions, and sprinted down the street as fast as my legs could carry me.

Voices sounded in the street behind me as the soldiers—namely Eomer—chased after me.

"Stop!"

"Like hell!" I cried, turning right down an alleyway. "You want to arrest me? Oh sure! Just, you know, take me into captivity, I don't care, doesn't make a difference to me! I like going into captivity! Best thing ever! You know what—why don't you join me in the prison as well and we'll have a cell block tango—it'll be fun!"

Someone grabbed my wrist and spun me around. I found myself face to face with an enraged Eomer.

"Man, you run fast," I said, gasping for breath.

"What is this?" asked Eomer, shoving the zebra print bra in my face. "Is this some sort of weapon?"

I pushed the bra away and stared at Eomer. "Weapon?" A wide grin spread across my face. "A weapon? Really? Oh that's good."

Eomer frowned. "What? What do you find so amusing?"

"It's a bra," I said. "A bra. Please tell me you have bras in Middle Earth."

Eomer stared at me suspiciously. I sighed and took the bra from him. Immediately, he reached for his sword, ready to defend in case I used the "weapon" to attack, I rolled my eyes and fitted the bra against my chest.

"It's used to support boobs," I said. "And make them look bigger in the case for push-up bras. Do you really not have any here?" I shook my head. "Your poor women."

Eomer snatched the bra from my hands. "Do not be so ridiculous."

"I'm not," I said. "That's really what it's used for." I paused and stared at the black and white print bra for a moment. "You know, I never paid for that. Well, I supposed that's one way to shop lift."

"What is this devilry that you speak of?" asked Eomer.

"Girl stuff," I said. "Your delicate male ears wouldn't be able to handle it. Well." I stepped away from Eomer. "It was nice chatting with you again. We always meet under such weird circumstances, huh?" I turned and started down the street.

"Stop." Eomer grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me back around to face him. "You cannot escape so easily. Who do you take me for? A fool?"

"I really just want to go," I said. "I don't have any business with Rohan. I'm just passing through."

Eomer snorted. "Indeed."

He kept a firm grip on my shoulder and steered me back down the street towards the tavern where the other soldiers had returned. I tried to move out of Eomer's grasp, but he was much taller and much stronger than I was.

"So," I said. "How long has it been since we last saw each other? A year? Two years?"

"Two months," said Eomer.

"Oh, not too long then," I said. "I have terrible sense of time, you know. A day is a year and a year is a day. It's a terrible thing. When I have kids—if I have kids, I should be saying—I'll make sure they always keep track of time. Never be late and never be early. Always be exactly on time. Ad always know the day, month, and year. And time. Keep a watch on you at all times. My little kiddies will be the most punctual kiddies you have ever seen."

"What are you talking about?" asked Eomer.

"Who is this?" asked a gruff-looking solider. He fingered the hilt of his sword, ready to defend if I were to attack. (The thought of this makes me laugh.)

"Peace, Eothain," said Eomer. "She won't harm us. She's not capable of harming us."

"Aw, Eomer," I said. "You know me so well."

"Shut up."

I grinned up at him and then turned to the soldiers who were all glowering at me. I smiled and waved awkwardly. "How you doing?"

"What is her crime?" asked one of the soldiers.

"Inappropriate public display," said Eomer.

"I ran through town naked," I said. "It was an accident though, I swear."

"She is a little bit odd," said the soldier.

"Thanks," I said. "I take that as a compliment. Normal people are so overrated. I'm Ana, by the way, Ana Stonbit. And, um, you are?"

"Gaenry, son of Gaenrin." (A skinny, but kind of cute man with a short black beard.)

"Dorthin, son of Dunethin." (Tall, solid built with a brown beard.)

"Taysend, son of Taylin." (Beardless, blond haired man.)

"Do not act so friendly with her! She is a criminal!" (That would be Eothain.)

"But she is little more than a child," said Gaenry.

"Hey," I said indignantly. "I'm twenty-one years old. I think that qualifies as more than a child."

"Twenty-one?" asked Taysend. "But you are so short."

"I'm a manly she-dwarf according to…" I stopped myself.

"A dwarf?" wondered Dorthin aloud. "I have never seen a dwarf let alone a she-dwarf. I was not aware dwarf women existed. I always supposed that dwarfs sprung from the stone when they were born and then return to the stone when they die."

"What kind of bullshit is that?" I asked. "Of course there are dwarf women. I don't _know_ any, but I do know dwarves. I'm the pet of Thorin Oakenshield and I know his two sister-sons Fili and Kili. So, obviously, female dwarves exist."

"The pet of Thorin Oakenshield?" asked Taysend.

"It's a long story," I said.

"She speaks in riddles," said Gaenry.

"She speaks in lies," said Eothain. He turned to Eomer. "You cannot let her continue speaking in such blatant falsities."

"Man," I said. "Eomer and I are tight. You cannot turn him against me."

Eomer shook me roughly by the shoulder. "Were you not the one who jumped out the tavern window when you saw me again? Is that your definition of the word 'tight'?"

"I, um, mistook you for someone else."

Eomer raised his eyebrows. "If you say so."

"So what do you intend to do with her?" asked Taysend. "She is just a woman."

"Hey!" I said. "That's called sexism, that is."

"I will leave her in the town jail for a few days," said Eomer. "That should teach her not to run through the town without any clothes."

"I don't like jail," I said. "I'm not made for the big house. The people in there—they eat little people like me for breakfast."

Eomer held me by the shoulder and started to steer me in the direction of the prison.

"I'm friends with Thorin," I said quickly. "Does that have any meaning to you?"

Eomer continued to steer me towards the jail.

"Okay. No. I know Aragorn. I know Elrond. I know Galadriel. I know Gandalf!"

Pause. Elrond turned me around roughly. I faced him. His eyebrows were narrowed so that wrinkled formed between them. He was frowning. "You know the wizard?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Gandalf and me go way back. We defeated some trolls together and we partied with dwarves in Hobbiton together. And we fled goblins together. We're practically best friends!"

"Can you contact him" and Eomer.

I blinked. "Er. Maybe. Why"

Eomer glanced at the soldiers. They were standing a few yards away, just out of earshot.

"We are in desperate need of Gandalf's aid."

"Um." I bit my lip. "Well, I guess maybe I could possibly get in contact with him depending on what sort of situation you need his help for maybe. Gandalf is a very busy wizard."

Eomer nodded. "We need help. Our king has fallen under the influence of Saruman and our lands are ill. Orcs roam freely across our lands. We need help."

"Right," I said. "I can get him the message. Maybe. Meanwhile…" I grinned up at Eomer. "Take me with you."

He sighed. "Why?"

"Because I want to see this king of yours."

"Why?"

I crossed my arms. "I am he best friend of Gandalf the Gray. Are you going to trust me or are you going to leave me behind like some common criminal?"

"You _are_ some common criminal," said Eomer.

"But that's beside the point," I said, waving away his words. "Come on, Eomer, you were going to the tavern, right? I bet I can beat you in a drinking competition!"

Eomer opened his mouth to reply, but at that very moment, a rider on a gray horse came galloping through the streets. He caught sight of Eomer and pulled on the reigns. The horse whinnied and came to a halt, stomping on the ground a few feet away from Eomer. The rider was a mess. He was clutching his arm, which was dripping blood and there was chunk taken out of his helmet.

"Westeld," said Eomer.

"My lord," said Westeld, staggered down from his horse. "We were ambushed."

"Ambushed?" asked Eomer.

"By orcs."

Eomer's eyes widened. "Theodred."

Westeld nodded. "I just managed to escape."

"Men," said Eomer, turning to his companions. "Get the horses. We depart at once."

Gaenry and Taysend sprinted through the street back towards the stables. Eothain stepped forward to grab hold of Westeld's arms, holding the man upright.

"Where is he?" asked Eomer.

"The Fords of Isen," said Westeld.

Gaenry and Taysend astride two powerful horses came through the street. Other horses followed. Eomer vaulted up onto a magnificent white mare and the other riders copied him example. Eothain helped Westeld back onto his horse.

"Wait!" I cried, stepping forward. "You said you'd take me with you."

"Her?" asked Eothain darkly. "She is a criminal. She should be in prison."

"She is a friend of Gandalf's," said Eomer. He glanced at me for a good, long moment. "Fine. Get your horse and follow."

"I don't have a horse," I said. "And I'm not riding my own."

Eomer rolled his eyes. "You are annoying." He reached down and grabbed me by the back of my shirt. He scooped me up onto the back of his horse. "Hold on."

He kicked the sides of his mare and the horse leapt forward. I screamed and flung my arms around Eomer's waist, holding on for dear life.

"This is why I hate horses!" I cried.

"There are more pressing matters than your hatred of horses," said Eomer. "If you prove to be a burden, then I will kick you off the horse."

I groaned. "This was a mistake…"

* * *

**A/N: This chapter lacked humor. Probably because I've been sick for the past five days and I'm not in a funny mood. Also, I've spoiled you guys. I don't update for THREE DAYS and I get complaints. Jeez. hahaha**

**Please review! I'll try and keep up my once a day updates, so please review!**


	34. A Lengthy Resume

**XXXIV: A Lengthy Resume**

Have I ever told you how much I hate horses? I told you about the time I rode Faramir's horse (well, more like I lay on top of the horse while we fled from giant ringwraiths on wings). Well, that wasn't the best experiences on horses so it makes sense that I now immensely dislike them.

"Can we walk?" I asked.

"Can I push you off the horse?" asked Eomer.

I shuddered. "Just look at the ground. Look at it! I'll be a bloody mess!"

"Then stop complaining," said Eomer. "My horse will not let you fall unless I command her to."

"Will you command her to?" I asked.

"That depends on whether you are silent or not."

I prodded him in the side. "You're so an orcish man."

Eomer frowned and glanced over at me. "What strangeness do you speak of now?"

"Nothing!"

The riders of Rohan (and me, I was there too) galloped across the hillside. Rohan was a vast land, with lots of grasslands. It makes sense since Rohan is known for their horses. It seemed like the kind of place where wild horses would wander the hills. We had been riding for about an hour or so. Eothain kept shooting me evil looks whenever he drew near. I'm pretty sure that guy has it out for me. I'd better sleep with the Sword Breaker under my pillow from now on. Eomer was too serious for his own good. Gaenry seemed nice, at least. He smiled whenever I caught his eye. Dorthin and I had a psycho-connection. I would make a face at him and then he would screw up his face and puff out his cheeks. We had an understanding going on. We had secret conversations between the two of us all through the weird faces we made at each other. (The conversation would be something like Me: I'm hungry. Dorthin: I had eggs for breakfast.)

Eomer led us into a forest. The horses dodged this way and that through the trees. The branches snapped and cracked against my shoulders. I looked over my shoulder and saw Dorthin ducking under a low tree branch. I scowled and stuck out my tongue at him. Dorthin pursed his lips and squinted. (Me: This sucks. Dorthin: They're always like this.)

As we went deeper into the forest, the mood grew more and more somber. Gaenry stopped smiling and Dorthin stopped talking. A sort of grim silence settled about us and the only noise was the repetitive sounds of the horses galloping, the twig snapping, and the wind rushing through my ears.

The horses broke through the line of trees and water splashed in all directions as we entered a shallow, rocky stream. Eomer reeled his horse around and began trotting downstream.

"Is it far now?" he asked.

"No," croaked Westeld. "Not far now."

I glanced at Dorthin and grimaced. (Me: These people speak in fragments.)

Dorthin nodded and quirked on eyebrow to the side. (Dorthin: Look serious. Any joy on your face and they will be suspicious.)

I tilted my head to the side and bit my lip. (Me: Do I look suspicious to you?)

Dorthin rolled his eyes and sucked in his cheeks. (Dorthin: Extremely suspicious. They will throw you in the prison as soon as we return.)

"Where are we?" I asked.

"The Fords of Isen," said Eomer grimly. "After a battle."

"Huh?"

And then, I saw the first dead body.

It was on the edge of the shore, where the tree roots met the shallow water. The soldier laid face down, his dirty blond hair floating on the water's surface. The river water was dyed red as it drifted past the body.

"Who is that?" I asked.

"A man of Rohan," said Eomer grimly. "He lost his life fighting for his people. Honor him, criminal that you may be."

I glared at Eomer's back. "I'm not a criminal. I have a heart too, you know. It's beating inside my chest, just the same as yours. I know what death means. Not everyone can be saved."

Eomer glanced over his shoulder. For a second, I thought he was going to reply, but then, we turned the bend in the river and the full battlefield came into view.

Before that moment, the amount of death I had seen was limited. I had seen the Fellowship die, yes, but that was only nine people. This was a _battlefield_. Orcs and men were everywhere. Their bodies were strewn all over the river. The water was red. Heads were cloven, limbs were severed, and bodies were defiled. This was war. This was death on a scale I had never seen before.

I closed my eyes. Boromir's face flashed to the front of my mind. Arrows protruding from his chest. The fear and resolution in his eyes. He was going to die. He knew it. Did these men know it too? Did they see their future before the orcs brought sword crashing down into their skulls? Or were they surprised? Did they not even see it coming?

And then another image crossed through the darkness before my eyelids. This one more horrific than all those before it. The White City was burning. Flames danced about the lower levels of the proud, stone city, consuming all in its path. Orcs feasted and devoured in its streets and the white tree decayed and died as the world of men fell into ruin.

I opened my eyes and tightened my grip on Eomer's back. I released my breath that I had no realized I had been holding. I sat there, panting and gasping.

Westeld was weeping, clutching his wounds and staring at his deceased companions. Taysend had found a familiar face and was trying to bring the dead man back to life. Dorthin's head was bowed as his horse trotted through the water.

A memory. That's what it was. A memory of when I was twelve and I was almost hit by a truck. A memory of fire and stone. A memory of death and destruction. A memory of the end.

Eomer reached back and removed my hands from his shirt. He slid off the horse, leaving me alone on the teetering mare's back. I immediately tensed, but Eomer stroked his horse's mane and the mare calmed instantly.

Eomer's eyes moved from his horse and scanned the remains of the battlefield.

But what if that was not the end? The thought snagged my mind and dug its claws in, refusing to let go. What if the world did not end?

"Ah!" Eomer caught sight of someone he knew. He sprinted forward and grasped an orc by the shoulder. He threw the orc off a small Rohan soldier. The face of a young man stained with blood stared up at the gray sky. "Theodred."

What if I could save the world? What if I could change the future? Not this. I don't know how to change this. But the end. What if I could make it not the end?

"The king's son," said Gaenry. "The king's son!"

"He is alive," said Eomer. He let out a mad laugh. "He is alive."

Or perhaps I cannot. I could not change Boromir's fate, who's to say I can change the fate of Middle Earth. Perhaps the world is doomed to end. And end it shall.

"Get him on a horse," said Eothain.

Eomer lifted the bloodied man. Theodred was barely breathing. His face was pale and his body was trembling.

Could I undo fire and stone? I didn't know. I still don't know.

"Here." Dorthin pulled his horse forward and held out an arm to me. "Come on my horse."

I shook my head. (Me: There's no way in Earth or Middle Earth that you're getting me to switch horses like this.)

Dorthin's eyes narrowed. (Dorthin: Do not dare throw a fit. Read the mood.)

I took a deep breath. (Me: I hate you.) And took Dorthin's hand. With the grace of a horse master, he pulled me from Eomer's horse to his. I flung my arms around Dorthin's waist and shrieked as the horse shifted uncomfortably under the added weight. Dorthin helped Eomer put Theodred onto his horse and Eomer hopped up beside him.

"Quickly," said Eomer. "My cousin has not much time."

The riders kicked their horses into action and the race began. Water splashed beneath the horses hooves and suddenly we were in the forest again, dodging branches and tree roots.

"I don't like horses," I muttered.

"Do not let them hear you say that," said Dorthin.

I glared down at the horse. (Me: I don't like you.)

(Dorthin: They can read minds.)

"No they can't," I said, prodding him in the back.

Dorthin glanced over his shoulder and grinned at me—only to be slapped in the face by a tree branch.

"Serves you right," I said. I leaned forward and muttered under my breath. "So, who is that?"

"You really do not know anything," said Dorthin.

"Excuse me,' I said. "Is my ignorance showing? Should I cover it up?"

"He is Theodred," said Dorthin. "The son of King Theoden of Rohan. And Eomer's cousin."

"And he's dead," I said.

"Almost dead," said Dorthin. "Perhaps the healers in Edoras can help him."

"Or perhaps they can't," I said.

The horses left the violent shelter of the forest and galloped out into open fields. Eothain led the way across the grasslands with Eomer and his white mare not far behind. Theodred looked paler in the direct sunlight. I didn't think he could be saved by any healer in Rohan.

Dorthin glanced over his shoulder at me, frowning. (Dorthin: Don't look so sad. You didn't know him.)

I raised my eyebrows. (Me: Rohan has really beautiful landscapes. It's really different from the city. When it's gray and rainy in the city, the day is just mucky and gross. But here, the gray and rainy days even seen pretty. Perhaps I should move out of the city and live in the hills. Or in a mountain.)

"What?" asked Dorthin.

"I like mountains," I said. "I mean, I guess I haven't had the best experience with them. I got attacked by a dragon twice and almost killed by goblins and chased by a balrog, but other than that, I think mountain are really pretty. Have you ever seen Moria?"

"Um…No." Dorthin shook his head.

"Moria is gorgeous. It's so vast and…vast. I don't know how the dwarves made such a kingdom but—hot damn—it puts those nancy little elves to shame. They're all like—look at me, look at me, I built little houses in the trees!" I snorted. "Big deal. Five-year-olds hang out in tree houses. No. It's the dwarves who know how to build. It's in their majestic DNA."

The horses crossed a stream, their hooves pounding through the water, sending splashes in all directions. Westeld's horse send a spray of muddy water into the bottoms of my jeans.

"What is this that you speak of?" asked Dorthin.

"What does the little criminal speak of?" asked Taysend, pulling his horse within earshot of Dorthin's.

"Of dwarves and elves and other mythical beings," said Dorthin.

"Dwarves and elves!" cried Westeld. "Such creatures have no been heard of for many years."

"Shows what you know," I said. "Just you wait. They're going to show up on your doorstep on day and you'll be like—oh snap, I should've listened to Ana."

"I have heard stories," said Taysend.

"That is all they are," said Westeld. "Stories.

"I beg to differ," I said. "Stories don't try to take off your head when they find you annoying. Stories don't make you climb giant trees to avoid orcs that are chasing you. Stories don't telling you scary stories about how you're going to go insane one day."

"You have lost me," said Taysend.

"She always looses me," said Dorthin.

I raised my eyebrows in his direction. (Me: You understand perfectly well what I'm saying.)

Dorthin narrows his eyes. (Dorthin: Of course, I do. But I don't want them to know that.)

"What are you two doing?" asked Taysend.

"Secret conversations," I said. "We have our own language."

Dorthin frowned. "We do?"

"Yeah," I said. "I make a face at you and you make one back and we have this psycho-connection thing going on!"

Dorthin stared at me for a good long minute. Then he turned back to Taysend and said, "I have no idea what she speaks about. I would look over at her and she would make a weird expression at me. These conversations are all in my head."

"What?" I cried. "We totally have a psycho-connection."

"You are strange," said Dorthin.

Taysend laughed. "The little criminal has insane fantasy within her head."

I stuck out my bottom lip and pouted. "You guys are going to make fun of me. That's not very nice. The Company makes fun of me. The only nice one is Bilbo. And Bofur. But Bofur is nice to everyone so that doesn't count. Except the orcs. He is badass when fighting orcs. And then, the Fellowship makes fun of me. Well, Aragorn doesn't. He just sort of tolerates my existence. He likes to pretend I don't exist most of the time. And Gimli and I have this sort of dwarf and not-really-a-dwarf connection going on. So, he's cool with me. We make fun of elves together. Legolas doesn't make fun or me so much as we argue a whole bunch. Because he's a stupid elf and no one likes elves. That reminds me of Thorin. He's all like—grr, elves. This is the elves fault. So is this. And this. Grr, elves. I hate elves. And then, Gandalf is like—shut up, Thorin, and deal with it. But Thorin doesn't want to deal with it, so every time he sees the elves they want to kill each other and it's like an epic showdown and it's super awesome and you should see it some time."

Dorthin, Taysend, and Westeld stared at me blankly for a moment. Then, Taysend turned to Dorthin and said, "The little criminal sure can talk."

I stuck my tongue out. "You people just can't appreciate the awesomeness."

The horses galloped uphill and I had to lean forward with Dorthin. I kept my arms wrapped tightly around his waist, terrified that I would go flying off the back of the horse and end up trampled underneath the hooves of Gaenry's horse.

"Almost there," said Dorthin.

I peered out from behind his back. We had reached the top of the hill and could see the grasslands stretching out before us. In the distance, I could see a rugged looking hill rising from the flat lands round it. A town had been built upon the rocky hill, with a wooden fence and little houses. A great hall rested at the top of the hill, a green flag rippling in the wind.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Your ignorance is showing again," said Dorthin.

I scowled and prodded him in the back. "Answer the question."

"It is Edoras," said Westeld. "The home of Theoden."

Taysend glanced at Eomer and then looked back at Dorthin. Dorthin shook his head. (Me: This is not right! Only I am allowed to have secret conversations with Dorthin usually only facial expressions!)

"What are you talking about?" I asked. (Forever ignorant.)

"The king," said Dorthin in an undertone. "Is sick. His mind has been corrupted by Saruman."

"But you still obey him," I said.

"We must," said Taysend. "He is our king."

"Kind of a flimsy king," I muttered.

The horses flew across the plains. With each step they crossed massive amounts of land until suddenly we found ourselves at the gates of Edoras. Eomer led the way through the entrance and up the rugged hill towards the great hall. The other riders followed after him. Through the town, the horses ran. The people, clad in black and gray, watched us through weary eyes. They seemed exhausted. This whole place seemed exhausted.

We reached a flat area in front of some stone steps leading up to the keep. Eomer swung himself down from the horse and helped Theodred down.

"He is injured!" shouted Eomer. "Prepare him a room and fetch a healer! Quickly, quickly!"

People rushed off and a man dressed in chainmail led Eomer away. The other riders dismounted, Dorthin helping me down from his horse.

"So this is Edoras," I said.

"It has seen better times," said Westeld. "We are at war. Nothing looks its best during war."

"Did I say anything?" I asked. "I just made an observation."

"You stated the obvious," said Dorthin. "It was not very helpful."

"Take these to the stable," said Eothain as a few squires rushed forward. "Make sure the horses are properly cared for."

The squires nodded and led the horses away and Eothain helped Westeld to find some medical attention. Just then, a woman with long, golden hair came rushing down the stone steps. She was ridiculously pretty. Perhaps not as pretty as Arwen, but still pretty enough to depress a mere woman such as myself. She looked like an ivory carving, with a smooth, pale face. Her long, white dress fluttered behind her as she raced towards us. She came to a halt a few feet away and looked about nervously.

"Where is Eomer?" she asked. "He traveled with you, did he not?"

"He did," said Gaenry.

"Who is she?" I asked.

Dorthin rolled his eyes. "Again?"

The woman caught sight of me. Hesitation flickered across her face, but then she stepped forward and smiled. "I am Eowyn, the sister of Eomer."

"I didn't know he had a sister," I said.

"How could you?" said Dorthin. "You have known him for a whole day."

"We have history," I said.

"Who might you be?" asked Eowyn.

I opened my mouth to respond, but Taysend cut across her. "She is a little criminal."

"It was an accident," I said.

"Eomer is with Theodred," said Eothain, returning after helping Westeld find aid. He gave the riders and me a disgust look before he addressed Eowyn again. "We found your cousin wounded from the Battle of Isen. He is not faring well."

Eowyn paled. "Where did they go?"

The moment Eothain told her, Eowyn turned and raced away, desperate to locate her brother and her cousin.

"I hope he's okay," I said.

"We all do," said Dorthin, patting me on the back.

He started to walk away, along with the rest of the riders.

"Wait," I said. "Where are you going?'

Dorthin looked over his shoulder me and grinned. "What we do whenever we return to Edoras."

"Which is?"

Gaenry laughed. "Get drunk."

I paused and considered this. "Oh man, this is just up my alley."

"Just up your alley?" asked Taysend.

"I have the most impressive drinking resume," I said. "I have participated in drinking competitions throughout Middle Earth. Mostly in Rivendell where I drank with Elladan and Elrohor, sons of Elrond the Halfelven and Legolas of the Woodland Realm and Gimli, son of Gloin and Merry and Pippin, hobbits of the Shire and B…" I paused. "And a sturdy man of Gondor. I mean, sure, I lost miserably every time, but you could not drink in better company."

"Well," said Dorthin. "You have quite the resume."

"I trained under the best."

Well, I went to the tavern with the riders and I drank with them. And we competed to see who could last the longest. Guess what. I lost miserably. But, look on the bright side, my drinking resume got just a little bit longer.

* * *

**A/N: I'm almost halfway through the story... (unless I decide to make it longer, but I probably won't.) Alright, I need to stop writing and catch up on my homework that I missed while I was sick. Anyways, I promise the next chapter will be waaaay funnier. Promise. **

**Please review. **


	35. Rohan In Five Scenes

**A/N: Warning - This is a long chapter.**

* * *

**XXXV: Rohan In Five Scenes**

Okay, okay, I know you hate long explanations (which is probably why you hate me right now for telling you this whole story, but it has a point I promise). But, you'll be glad to know, that I can summarize my week-long stay at Edoras in five scenes. Five scenes are all it takes, I promise. And then, I'll move on to the next part of the story. Okay? I'll even treat you to the next ale.

Ready? Set? Action!

_Scene One: Meeting The Worm_

"We cannot allow you before King Theoden armed."

I looked at the red-headed soldier in front of me (Hama was his name, I think). Then, I turned to look back at Eomer. "Is he serious?"

Eomer rolled his eyes. "Just do as he says, Ana."

I reached into my boot and pulled out the Sword Breaker. I stared at the sheathed blade for a moment and then looked up at Hama. My eyes narrowed. "If anything happens to this blade, you will have hell to pay."

Eomer flicked the side of my head. "Stop being dramatic. It is a dinner knife."

Begrudgingly, I handed over the Sword Breaker. I eyed Hama darkly. "I'm warning you."

"Come on," said Eomer.

He guided me by the shoulder into Meduseld (the Golden Hall of Rohan where Theoden dwelled). I remember the hall vividly. The ceiling was black with intricate carvings of mountains and rivers and grasslands. Like a dark void of pictures the black ceiling dripped down to form golden pillars, decorated with the images of horses, running wild throughout Rohan. The hall was vast with a smooth stone floor that stretched from the heavy-set doors from which I entered to the opposite end of the hall where Theoden sat on his golden throne. Soldiers of Rohan mulled about the hall, sitting to my left and right at long wooden tables. They watched as Eomer and I entered the hall and muttered amongst themselves in low voices. I caught sight of Taysend and Dorthin to my left and I smiled and waved. They pretended I didn't exist.

Eomer steered me forward until I stood before the throne of the King. He was sickly indeed. Not just in mind, as the riders had told me, but physically. He looked weathered and crooked. His white hair was thin and grizzly. His face was wrinkled and beaten, peeling in some places. He seemed aged beyond his years, dressed in gray animal furs and heavy coats.

"Uncle," said Eomer. "I bring before you, Ana Stonbit of, um, Ohio."

"Hi," I said, waving.

Theoden peered at me through his wrinkled eyelids. "She is small."

I sighed and turned to Eomer. "Why is that always the first thing people say when they see me for the first time?"

"And she is dressed like a man," said Theoden, his voice cracking.

"There you go," I said. "And that would be the second thing. She's short and she's dressed like a man. There is more to me than those two things."

"You are being disrespectful," said Eomer, sighing.

"I'm always disrespectful," I said. "You should see me making fun of Elrond. His crown is a friggin' tiara. Though, I might add, that your crown is nothing like a tiara. That is a good and proper crown."

"What kind of lonely vagrant is this?"

I felt Eomer stiffen beside me. I glanced at him and saw that his face was drawn up as though some dark storm had passed through the hall. I turned to see who had caused such instant dislike—and found myself face to face with Grima Wormtongue. He looked like a Grima Wormtongue. You know how some people don't look anything like their names (I once knew a Mary-Ann Bryant, but she looked nothing like a Mary-Ann Bryant. She was more of a Florence.) Well, none of that. Grima Wormtongue was Grima Wormtongue to the very core of his being. He was small and bent over with slicked back black hair and a pale, clammy face. He wore all black and he moved like a worm, wriggling about uncomfortably.

Now, I know you're not supposed to judge a book by its cover—but, well, I judge books by their covers. And I did not like this extremely awkward-looking Wormtongue.

"I'm Ana Stonbit," I said. "You got a problem with that?"

"No, no," said Grima. He moved to the wooden seat beside Theoden's throne and settled himself into the chair. "I just wonder who you might be. You, a woman dressed like a man and speaks in a manner not known by any man here."

"Oh, you think I'm weird, boo-hoo." I smiled at Grima. "Are you questioning Eomer's judgment?"

"I do no such thing," said Grima.

"Oh, but I think you are." I turned to Eomer. "Is he questioning your judgment?"

Eomer stared at me, not saying a word.

Eomer agrees," I said. "And Eomer doesn't like having his judgment questioned. If Eomer thinks that I am important enough to bring before the king, then important I am. You got a problem with that, deal with it."

"But," said Grima, leaning closer to the king so that his lips almost touched the ends of Theoden's white hairs. "Perhaps the king does not trust his nephew's judgment. Perhaps the king does not want little vagrants of unknown origin wandering through his hall. Perhaps the king wishes you gone. Perhaps the king wishes you dead."

"As if," I said. "The king should feel honored that I have entered his halls. He cannot tell me where to go and when to go. No one can command me for I am the _Senturiel_ and I come and go as I please!"

Silence.

"What devilry does she speak of?" grumbled Theoden.

"What is she talking about/" asked Grima.

Eomer shrugged. "She always speaks of strange and unknown things."

I slapped the palm of my hand to my forehead and sighed. "Well, that was anticlimactic."

"What is the _Senturiel_?" asked Eomer.

"You uneducated people," I said. "That would have been so much better if I had been amongst elves. They would have been like—oh my God! She's the _Senturiel_! We must honor her and treat her as the awesome person she is! But then, I say that to you guys and you're all like—Is she crazy?"

"_Is_ she crazy?" asked Grima.

"You're crazy," I said. "And ugly. And mean."

Grima stared at me for a full minute and then he said, "Someone throw her in prison."

"Aw, come on!" I cried, jumping out of the way. "Why is it that wherever I go, someone tries to throw me in prison. First it was Eomer. Then it was Denethor. And then Denethor again. Then Eomer. And now you! I'm not a criminal! It's usually just an accident!"

"She means now harm," said Eomer, stepping in between Grima and me. "She is a friend of dwarves and elves. She means to stay here for a short while. Do not be so quick to hostilities, Grima."

Grima stared at Eomer, his gaze occasionally flickering to me and then back to Eomer. Finally, Grima nodded once. "She is your responsibility, Eomer. See to it she does not do anything…disruptive."

I smiled and waved at the aged king. Eomer grabbed me by the shoulder and practically dragged me to the exit.

"Come on," I said. "It will be just like old times. Eomer and Ana back together again."

Eomer sighed. "There are no 'old times', I've known you for a whole two days."

"Exactly," I said. "Those were an awesome two days."

* * *

_Scene Two: Bonding Like Men_

Dorthin slammed the mug on the wooden table and ale sloshed over the sides. "Grima hates you and by hates you, I mean _hates_ you."

"I would sleep with a dagger under your pillow tonight," said Gaenry.

"Meh, I can take him," I said, finishing off my first mug of ale. "I don't think he owns a sword, let alone knows how to use one."

"You do not own a sword," said Eomer.

"I own the Sword Breaker," I said proudly. "A gift from the elves. Beat that."

"I own an _actual _sword," said Dorthin. "Beat that."

"The elves did not trust her with a real sword," said Eomer. "So they gave her the little dagger."

The riders roared with laughter and Taysend called for more drinks.

"The sad part is," I said. "That's the truth. They tried to teach me the sword—that failed miserably. They tried to teach me the bow—that failed miserably. They tried to teach me the axe—um, well, I'm now known as the beard defiler."

"Why does that not surprise me in the slightest?" asked Eomer.

The next round of drinks arrived and we helped ourselves to the mugs of ale.

"Drink up," said Dorthin. "Round two is here."

"You guys drink like my mother," I said.

"Does your mother drink well?" asked Dorthin.

"No."

"Then what are you talking about?"

I sighed. "I think 'you mother' jokes are lost on the men of Rohan."

"And do dwarves understand 'you mother' jokes?" asked Gaenry.

"Oh yeah," I said. "They get really enthusiastic too. Your mother was an ox. Your mother was a fat pig. Your mother is afraid of the dark. Your mother can't even grow a beard. Your mother was an orc. Your mother was an elf. Your mother lived in trees and ate green food. You get the idea?"

"I would think it would be a compliment that your mother cannot grow a beard," said Gaenry.

"You are one to talk," said Taysend, taking a long sip of ale.

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Gaenry.

"He means your mother has a beard so thick that rats could live in it," said Dorthin.

"Well," said Gaenry. He took a long draught of ale and then slammed the mug on the table. "Your mother is so fat that she requires five chairs at the dinner table."

"Is that supposed to offend me?" asked Dorthin.

"Your mother is so fat that she requires two horses to get anywhere," said Taysend.

Dorthin laughed and finished off his ale. "Your mother is so hairy that she was mistaken for a bear once."

Taysend grinned. "Your mother is so hairy that she puts dwarves to shame."

"Whoa now," I said. "Let's not get carried away."

But, of course, there was no stopping the riders now that they had gotten started on their onslaught of 'your mother' insults. They ran wild with the idea until all three were stone drunk and sleeping on the table. I don't know any more of the jokes, since eventually I turned my attention to Eomer.

"Why so serious?" I asked, sipping my ale.

"I am thinking," said Eomer.

"Thinking is boring," I said. "You don't come to a bar to think—you come to pick up chicks and get wasted. And since you already have me, there's only the drinking left to do."

Eomer raised his eyebrows. "I think you are drunk enough for the both of us."

"Hardly," I said. "I'm only on drink number two." I chugged down the last bit of my ale and called for some more. "Make that three."

"My point is proven for me," said Eomer.

"You're too sober for your own good," I said. "It is a wonder you have any friends. If you keep serious and sober, you're going to end up like Gollum. Going completely insane and talking to yourself all the time. As your long time friend, I'm quite worried. What will you do when I'm gone?"

"I think I will survive."

"Don't be ridiculous. When I'm going, you're going to stay awake at night with this giant ache in your stomach and you'll be like—Where is Ana? Why is Ana not here? I need Ana to provide amusement for me because my life is so painfully serious. But then, I won't be there so you'll be left to endure your pains until you either turn to alcohol or go insane. Your choice."

"You possess a slight ego problem, do you not?"

"It's called personality. You're a more serious case than I thought if you cannot tell the difference between ego and personality. You're lucky you met me when you did. Who knows how far gone you would be at this time if it were not for my wit and humor."

"All that horse riding has addled your brains."

"I do hate horses. But so would you if you were extremely short and were chased by a nazgul across Pelennor Fields thrown across the horse's back improperly. I like to say—thanks a lot, Faramir. It's bad enough that I have acrophobia, arachnophobia, myrmecophobia, and pteronarcophobia—and now you have to add hippophobia to the list."

Eomer stared at me for a moment. "All I know is that you have just made a list of very long words that probably possess no meaning."

"They have meanings!" I cried. "Look it up. God, Boromir makes fun of my fear of heights all the ti—" I stopped.

"What is it?" asked Eomer.

"Boromir made fun of my fear of heights all the time," I said, cheerfully. "And so did the Ents. Most terrifying experience of my life, being carried by an Ent. Well, technically two Ents at different times. Terrifying. I'm pretty sure I cried and screamed the whole time. The talking trees laughed at me."

"Wait, wait, wait," said Eomer, holding up on hand. "You are not allowed to do that."

"Do what?"

"You cannot have that little reflective moment and then charge forward as if it never happened. I will not allow it. Explain."

"Explain what?"

"Who is Boromir?"

I grabbed my ale and chugged down as much as I could. I coughed and lowered the mug. "He's a friend."

"I am waiting."

"We drank together and he piggybacked me a lot."

"I have all night."

"And he died."

Eomer nodded. "And what else?"

My eyes narrowed. "You are really nosy, did you know that?"

"Answer the question."

I crossed my arms and sat back in my seat, glaring across the table at Eomer. "And what if I say no?"

Eomer smiled. "Alright then. Let us make a game of it. I will order up some drinks and every time one of us tells the truth, the other one has to drink. Last one standing wins."

"Ah." I laughed. "You found my weakness. I can't ever say no to a drinking game."

And that's how it began. Eomer order the drinks and we began. At first, we asked light questions. Have you ever been in jail? (Eomer: No.) Have you ever spent the night in the street? (Me: Yes.) Have you ever run through a town naked? (Eomer: No.) But then, the questions became more intense, and the lying came forward.

"Have you ever lied to your family?"

"Yes." I grinned. "Take a _long_ drink for that one."

Eomer picked up the mug and drank for a good few second. "Alright," he said when he was done. "Ask me."

"Have you ever thought of rebelling against you uncle?" I asked.

Eomer stared at me for a good long moment. "No."

I smiled. "So should I drink?"

"No." Eomer took a deep breath. "Have you ever seen a non-majestic dwarf?"

"Aw, man," I said. "You're fighting with my love of dwarves here."

"Honest," said Eomer.

"Yep, yep, yep," I said. "Kili. He's the most unmajestic dwarf I have ever seen. I mean, he's one of those rare sexy dwarves that have almost gone extinct, but he's not majestic!"

Eomer laughed and picked up the mug. "You and your dwarves."

"Have you ever fallen off your horse?"

"No."

I blinked. "Really?"

"Yep. Drink up."

I took a long draught of ale. Then, when I lowered it back down to the table, I saw that Eomer was staring at me. I frowned. "What?"

"Have you ever killed a man?"

"Yes."

Eomer's expression did not change in the slightest. He picked up his mug and raised it to his lips.

"Don't drink."

He paused. "Do not drink?"

I nodded, refusing to look him in the eye. "I lied."

* * *

_ Scene Three: Bonding Like Women_

I didn't spend much time with Eowyn while I stayed in Rohan. Most of my stay was spent with the riders. There were a lot of drinking parties and a lot of hangovers. Eowyn was a lady of Rohan. She didn't really associated with the coarse crowd (AKA me).

But there was one day that I remember. One day where Eomer and the riders left Edoras to chase down a party of orcs that had been running across the plains. I had wanted to go with them (I didn't really want to be left alone in a strange city with Grima, who _really_ did not like me). But, as Eomer pointed out, I couldn't ride a horse. I could only be a hindrance. So, I ended up spending the day with Eowyn. And, well, that was an interesting experience.

"How do you stand it?" I asked.

"How do I stand what?"

"This."

She didn't respond.

"How is Theodred?" I asked.

Eowyn did not look at me directly. She kept her gaze focused on her sewing. "He passed during the night."

I swallowed. I shouldn't have asked.

We were sitting in the Golden Hall at the end of a long wooden table. Eowyn was doing some sort of sewing. She was focused on her craft, her head bent and her eyes fixed on the thread. I sat on the other side of the table, tracing the carving on the table with the tip of my finger.

"I'm bored."

"I apologize, but we are in the middle of a war. Entertainment and cheer are scarce in these times."

(God damn, she was pretty _and_ nice. That just wasn't fair. Pretty women should have rotten personalities, just to even out the playing field a little.) I scowled at Eowyn and turned my attention to the rest of the hall. If only Eomer and the others would hurry and come back. How long did it take to kill a party of orcs?

The hall was practically empty. Hama was standing near the doors, talking to another soldier who had rugged, wavy hair. The two of them spoke in undertones, every so once in awhile casting glances across the hall where the shriveled Theoden sat on his throne while Grima Wormtongue muttered dark things in his ear.

And then, I noticed something odd. Grima glanced in our direction. For a moment, I thought his expression was somewhat soft. Then, he saw me staring and his expression hardened again. He quickly looked away.

"Well that was odd," I said.

"What was odd?" asked Eowyn.

Grima glanced over again. Again he caught me staring and his expression darkened.

"Extremely odd."

Eowyn frowned. She tried to follow my line of sight, peering over at Theoden and Grima in wonder. Grima saw that Eowyn was looking and his face turned a shade of bright red. Then, he saw me, and his gaze hardened. He learned over and whispered something in the king's ear.

"Grima," said Eowyn, her voice colored with distaste.

"He keeps looking over here." I paused. "Maybe he has a crush on me."

Eowyn frowned. "I do not understand that term."

"He's in love with me," I said. "He pretends to be cold and hateful, but secretly he spends his nights by the windows writing love sonnets about my enchanting beauty and exotic ways."

Eowyn stared at me. She opened her mouth a couple of times and only to close it again.

I grinned. "Kidding."

She sighed with relief. "It is best when my brother is around. Grima fears him."

"Who wouldn't fear Eomer?" I asked. "He's too friggin' serious all the time." I leaned forward, propping my elbows up on the table and resting my chin in the palms on my hands. "So, your number one suitor is Grima Wormtongue. How does that make you feel?"

Eowyn bit her lip. "He would not be so bad if he were not…so…"

"Wormy?" I suggested.

Eowyn managed a small smile. "Yes. I supposed so."

"Well," I said. "Even with Grima stalking you, you're love life is better than mine. I have, um, a failed relationship with my next-door neighbor. Though I think the homeless man that lives in the alley outside my apartment building might have a crush on me. He always tries to hug me when I pass by. Either that or steal my purse. I'm not exactly sure which one."

"You tell unusual stories," said Eowyn.

"It's a talent," I said. "And don't worry. You're nice and ridiculously pretty. You'll have better suitors than Grima and the homeless man who lives down the street."

"And you?" asked Eowyn. "Or do you plan to wed the homeless man?"

"Definitely the homeless man," I said. "We have a bond that no one else can intrude on."

"What bond would that be?"

"The bond of poverty. I can't hold a job and neither can he."

Eowyn laughed. (God, even her laugh was pretty. This isn't fair! God's cheating! God is a friggin' elf!)

"So do you have any other suitors?" I asked. "Besides Wormtongue."

Eowyn shook her head. "There was once a marriage proposal from Dunharrow, but nothing became of it. Grima has had my uncle's ear for many a year. He would not let me go so easily."

"Disappointing," I said. "God, that sucks. What would be life without some good romance to gossip about? Though my love life isn't much better."

"But surely there are some suitors," said Eowyn. "You get along so well with the men."

I laughed. "Sure. Let's see. Who are the male figures in my life? Nick—he's my not-gay-but-should-be friend and he has a girlfriend. Nothing happening there. Aragorn—he has Arwen. Enough said. I can't compete with that. Legolas—friggin' tree hugger. Gimli—Aw. I could marry Gimli. We'd have a good life together. We'd go live in Erebor and spend our nights by the fire complain about stupid elves. I don't date hobbits. They're shorter than I am—and that's saying something. Who else is there? Elladan and Elrohir are elves. I like them. They're good elves. But they're still elves. And then there's Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Fili, Kili, Dwalin, and Balin. That would be a no, no, no, no, no, no, he's ridiculously lovely, no, maybe, he's a beardless dwarf—definitely not, no, and no. Oh, and then there's Thorin. He's to majestic to love anyone but himself."

Eowyn stared at me blankly. "I did not understand a word of what you just said."

"Good," I said. "Because it was all nonsense. Basically, the only candidates for marriage are dwarves." I considered this for a second. "You know what, I'll marry Gimli. I think that works. Though I did cut off part of his beard once. That's kind of a wedge in our relationship. But, you know, we can work to overcome that. Lots of therapy, you know."

"Should I arrange for your wedding?" asked Eowyn.

"Definitely," I said. "I want a strapless wedding dress with a long train. And my bridesmaids have to wear puke green. I can't have anyone looking better than me on my wedding day. It's a rule of thumb."

"Flowers?" asked Eowyn.

"White. Everything has to be white." I paused. "Do you think I can have dwarves as my bridesmaids? I'd want twelve bridesmaids. They'd all be short and in puke green dresses. Oh, this is getting good."

And that was my bonding experience with Eowyn. We went on to spend the afternoon planning my wedding, reception, and honeymoon with Gimli. Let's just say there were some fights at the reception and some wild elvish partying. I was seriously starting to consider marrying Gimli after that.

* * *

_ Scene Four: Arresting The Bold_

Eomer and his men returned later that day. I practically sprinted outside with Eowyn following close behind at a more even pace. The men had returned their horses to the stables and we approaching the Golden Hall to discuss their journey with the king. I met the on the stone landing outside the hall. The wind was blowing and the green flogs rustled in the wind.

"How was it?" I asked. "Mission accomplished?"

"The orcs were slaughtered during the night," said Eomer. "It was a long journey and we lost two of our riders."

I cringed. "Sorry."

"We met some interesting people along the way," said Gaenry.

"Who?" I asked.

"You will find out soon enough," said Eomer. "I must report to the king."

"You mean that you must report to Grima," said Eowyn.

"Greetings, sister," said Eomer, giving her a quick hug. "Yes. I will give the news to Grima if he is present."

"Did you two have fun while we were gone?" asked Dorthin.

"We planned my wedding," I said. "It's going to be epic."

"I can imagine," said Eomer.

"It is," I said. "Two words—dwarf bridesmaids."

Eomer rolled his eyes while the other riders tried to image the sight. Eomer grabbed my shoulder and steered me towards the entrance to the keep. "Have you contacted the wizard yet?"

I swallowed. "I'm trying. He does as he pleases. It's, um, very hard to keep in contact with Gandalf." (God, I was lying through my teeth there. Eomer looked so hopeful that Gandalf would come. I did not have the heart to tell him that my ability to contact Gandalf was a lie I spun to avoid being sent to prison.)

"Hurry," said Eomer. "I do not know how much longer we can suffer Grima."

I nodded. "I do not know how long your sister can suffer Grima."

Eomer released my shoulder and stepped away. "You noticed."

"It's not hard to notice."

The other riders and Eowyn joined us at the door. Hama allowed us entry and Eomer led the way inside. He and his fellow riders strode across the hall to stand before Theoden's throne. Eowyn and I drifted to the side, watching with curiosity at the events about to unfold.

"What news do you bear, Eomer, son of Eomund?" asked Grima.

"We caught the party of Uruk-hai," said Eomer. "We left none alive."

"Good," said Grima, leaning back in his chair. "You have served your king well."

Eomer nodded. "We were not the only ones pursuing the orcs. On our return, we met three strangers. They had run many miles after the Uruk-hai. They sought to rescue two of their companions from the clutches of the orcs. We encountered the orcs first and killed them, but we did not see the companions."

"Strangers?" asked Grima. There was a tone of worry in his voice, but he quickly masked it with a crooked smile. "What of these strangers?"

"They come from the north," said Eomer. "Almost as though they sprung from the fireside stories. There was a man. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, one of the Dunedain. And an elf and a dwarf."

"Legolas and Gimli," I said.

All eyes turned to me. I smiled awkwardly and waved at them. "They're semi-friends of mine."

"You do know a lot of people," said Taysend.

"It's a gift," I said.

Eomer ignored me and turned his attentions back to the king (and Grima). "I leant them two horses belonging to riders who fell during our battle with thee orcs. They promised to return the horses when their errand was complete. I have the upmost confidence in their promise."

Theoden stirred. His sleepy eyes fluttered and he shifted in his seat. "You leant Rohan's horses to strangers?"

"They are honorable," said Eomer.

"You should not have done so," said Theoden.

"They—"

"Do you not listen to your king?" asked Grima. "He does not approve of your conduct. You may be the king's nephew, Eomer, but that does not give you leave to fulfill any fanciful desire that crosses your mind."

Eomer's eyes narrowed. "Fanciful desires?"

"Things are about to get real tense in here," I murmured.

"You call these things fanciful desires?" asked Eomer, stepping forward. "We are at war, Grima. Orcs roam freely across our land—unchecked and unchallenged, killing at will. Yet we do nothing to stop them. When will you acknowledge what is right before your feet? When all the men are dead? Then will you say that we are at war? Or do you not wish to be at war, Grima? Or do you know we are at war and yet you refuse to acknowledge it? What are you. Grima? You come from Rohan, yes, but you are not a man of Rohan. You feed wicked words to the ears of our king. But are they wise words? No. They are the words Saruman wants the king to hear. They are the words Saruman wants the king to say. We can suffer you no longer, Grima. Be gone—before I use some other means to be rid of you."

I buried my face in my hands at this point. I cannot say I am the brightest bulb in the tool shed, but even I knew what was going to happen next. I think Eomer knew—even as he spoke those words—what fate awaited him.

"You see much Eomer, son of Eomund," said Grima, stepped between Eomer and the king. "But because you see so much, you have become blind to the truth. I seek only to protect Rohan, whereas you only wish to involve her in wars that are not hers to be involved in."

"You—"

"We no longer have need for you war mongering, Eomer," said Grima. He turned to the soldiers nearest to him. "Put him in iron and behind bars. He will be of more use to us there."

"No!" cried Eowyn, stepping forward.

Eomer lifted his head and stared at Grima for a long time. "You will come to regret this, Grima Wormtongue. I can only hope that I live to see that day."

* * *

_ Scene Five: Rescuing The King_

"Stupid Eomer," I said. I kicked the gate to a horse stall, letting out my frustrations. Except the gate was made of wood. And it didn't like to be kicked. A spasm of pain shot up from my toes to my leg and I gasped in pain, hopping away from the stall.

"I think you are the stupid one," said Gaenry.

"He did what he thought he must," said Taysend. "Not to say that I approve of his actions."

"He's stupid," I said definitively. "He's off the usher list for my wedding."

"What wedding?" asked Taysend, rolling his eyes.

"I'm marrying Gimli," I said. "He was one of the strangers you met on the road."

"The dwarf?" Gaerny stroked his horse's mane and looked over his shoulder at me. "You're marrying the dwarf."

"She is not serious," said Taysend.

"I most certainly am," I said, crossing my arms. "I'm marrying that dwarf and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I am not attending the wedding," said Dorthin.

"Not even the reception?" I asked. "That's where everyone gets drunk and the crazy stuff happens."

Dorthin paused to consider this. "Well, okay, I shall go to the reception. But the wedding itself—never."

"Not even to see twelve dwarfs in bridesmaids dresses?"

Dorthin grinned. "Okay. I will attend the wedding ceremony too."

"G—"

"They have come! They have come! They have come!"

A squire came sprinting through the doors of the stable, shouting at the top of his lungs. He came to a screeching halt in front of Dorthin. For a moment, the boy could not find words. He stood there, panting and gasping. Then, he lifted his head and cried, "The wizard and three strangers have come!"

"The wizard?" asked Gaenry.

"Gandalf," I said. "Aragorn, Legolas, and my future hubby."

"Can you be serious for two seconds?" asked Taysend.

"Quickly," said Dorthin. "To the keep. We do not want to miss this."

The riders sprinted out of the stable, closely followed by the squire. I chased after them, but—man—as much running as I have done, I'm still ridiculously slow. I lugged my way up the hillside to the Golden Hall. Everyone else was already inside and I was able to slip in after them. Dorthin, Taysend, and Gaenry had gathered together by the door. Hama stood near by looking nervous. In the center of the hall, approaching the battered king, were four figures. A wizard with long white hair and gray robes. A man with rugged looks and a stern figure. An elf with a too-perfect-to-be-true face. And a friggin' awesome dwarf.

"The welcome of your hall has somewhat lessen of late," said Gandalf.

"Gimli!" I screamed. I pushed my way through the crowd and flung my arms around the dwarf's neck. I left the stunned dwarf and managed to hug Aragorn and Gandalf in one go. (I did not hug the elf.) "Aw man, I missed you guys!"

"It seems pretty welcoming to me," said Aragorn.

"I missed you guys!" I cried. "The last time I saw you was under less than happy circumstances!"

"Was it?" asked Aragorn.

"Bad times," I said, releasing him and Gandalf. "How have you been?"

"Good," said Gimli gruffly. "Merry and Pippin are safe."

"With then ents," I said, nodding.

"How is it that you know everything?" asked Gimli. (Legolas scoffed at the idea.)

"I'm magical," I said. "It—"

"Look out!" Aragorn leapt forward and pushed me out of the way. He swung his fist and whacked one of the soldiers of Rohan in the jaw.

I stumbled away from the group. Gaenry caught hold of my shoulders and kept me upright. I watched in horror as Theoden's men besieged the Fellowship. Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn punched and kicked and elbowed as the men—armed and dangerous—attacked. It happened rapidly. My eyes could barely keep up with the speed. I blinked and one man—first attacking—would be lying on the floor, groaning in pain.

Standing at Theoden's right hand, Grima smiled. It was twisted, cruel smile. His eyes flickered in the dull light of the hall and he watched with eager anticipation as the chaos ensued below him.

Gandalf did not concern himself with the attackers. His eyes were fixed on a higher goal. Theoden, the withered king on the throne, stared out at Gandalf. The king shifted uncomfortably.

Grima stepped between Theoden and Gandalf. "We do not welcome you here, Gandalf."

"Be gone," said Gandalf. "I did not pass a foul death to trade crude words with you."

"You should be gone," said Grima, gnashing his yellowed teeth. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Gray."

For the longest moment, Gandalf only stared at Grima. His gaze was masked and his emotions hard to read. At first, I thought that Gandalf was angry with Grima. I thought Gandalf planned to use his powers to tear Grima into a thousand pieces. Then, Gandalf's stare seemed for pitying. As if he understood Grima's shuddering and wanted to embrace the sniveling man rather than cast him out. And then, Gandalf gaze returned to an emotionless slate.

He reached up and pulled at the hem of his gray cloak. The outer garment fell away to reveal the glowing white robe beneath. It seemed as though the entire room had been filled with light.

Grima howled and staggered away from Gandalf, shielding his eyes from the might of Gandalf. Theoden thrashed about in his throne.

Gandalf pointed his staff at Theoden. The end seemed to be shimmering, yet there was not light.

"Be gone, Saruman," said Gandalf. "We need you here no longer."

Theoden screamed.

And then, silence.

Theoden leaned against the arm of his chair. His eyes fluttered. Eowyn's hands were clasped over her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. Gandalf leaned on his staff, panting slightly. Aragorn frowned as if he was doubting Gandalf's abilities. Gimli squinted at the old man. Legolas stared at Gandalf in awe. Hama looked guilty, his head bent and his eyes flickering to the king and away. I could not move. I knew what everyone was doing and at the same time, I had no idea what was going on. The Golden Hall was filled with a silence it had not heard in hundreds of years. All eyes were fixed on the king.

The old man lifted his head and I saw that he was not an old man. He was middle-aged with graying blond hair and a world-weary face. His blue eyes were accompanied by shadows and wrinkles. But he was not old. He seemed stronger and more resilient than the wisp of a king that had sat there before. This was Theoden, King of Rohan, as he ought to have always been.

Theoden surveyed the hall, his hands trembling slightly. "Where have I been?"

"Lost," said Gandalf. "On the paths Saruman lead you. But now, you have found your way home. And just in the nick of time."

Theoden let out a shaky laugh. All at once, the room seemed to join in his relief. The riders laughed and patted one another on the back. Eowyn wiped away her unshed tears and rushed to her uncle's side. The ever-set gloom of Theoden's halls broke like a damn and the giddy joy rushed forth.

"Well," I said, brushing off my hands. "That was fun. What do we do now?"

And, well, that was the question that would take a long time to answer.

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**A/N: Longest chapter yet. And now I'm exhausted. Please review?**


	36. The Estranged Step Brother

**A/N: I have a perfectly good reason as to why it took me so long to update. Every time I sat down to try and write this chapter, I would get a few sentences down and then realize I was not funny. this is supposed to be a funny chapter. But I wasn't funny. So I stopped. And then yesterday was my birthday. Lots of fun. I'm 18 now! My parents can legally kick me out of the house! Whoooo!**

**Anyway, here is the long awaited chapter 36:**

* * *

**XXXVI: The Estranged Step-Brother**

We had a council meeting in the Golden Hall. Theoden sat on his throne, his face stretched in an grimace. Gandalf sat on Theoden's right hand (the place Grima would have been before he fled). Eomer had been released from prison. He did not seem too sour about—

What?

Yeah, I'm still talking about Rohan. Yeah...

Okay, okay, okay—you caught me. I lied. I can't exactly sum up Rohan in five scenes. But I am pretty damn close. This isn't a scene of entirely Rohan. I promise.

So, we were sitting around Theoden's throne in a council meeting. Gandalf sat at Theoden's right hand and Eomer sat on Theoden's left. A few of the more experienced riders sat near Gandalf and then Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sat near Eomer. I made sure to take a seat next to my hubby. (Gandalf and Theoden had been against including me, but Eomer said it would be beneficial—because I knew the future. Somewhat. I knew stuff about the talking trees defeating the little wizard.)

"Saruman," said Theoden, shaking his head. "I should have known."

"Do not blame yourself," said Gandalf. "Saruman deceived us all."

"But for me to sit back and watch the destruction of Rohan and do nothing," said Theoden, shaking his head.

"Do not give up Rohan so easily," said Aragorn. "She is wounded, but she is not lost."

"You are right," said Theoden. "We must take action. We cannot stay in Edoras. She is vulnerable."

"Helmsdeep," said Eothain.

"What is that?" I asked.

Eomer shot me a glare, but then it transformed into a smirk. "Your ignorance is showing."

"Thanks," I said. "That joke's old."

"Helmsdeep is the great fortress of Rohan," said one of the riders. "It has saved us before in the past."

"Oh," I said. "It's the old—why fix what isn't broke—philosophy, huh?"

"I do not understand her," said the rider, turning to his companions.

Eothain gave me a silencing glare.

"I do not think that course of actions would be wisest," said Aragorn. "Saruman will expect such a move. What he would not expect is an open battle. Call the men, take up arms."

"I will not risk open war."

"Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not."

"Who are you? Who are you to speak here? When last I looked, Theoden—not Aragorn—was king of Rohan!"

Gimli let out a low whistle. I looked at him a nodded. Things were getting tense.

"If you feel to Helmsdeep," said Gandalf. "You will have to take the women and children with you. Saruman will attack Helmsdeep and if you fall, then your women and children will fall with you. What Aragorn suggests is that you meet Saruman in open battle. Draw him away from your women and children."

"And what if Saruman does not take the bait?" asked Theoden. "I will not be played the fool."

"You must meet him head on," said Aragorn. "Do not give him time to choose the bait or no."

Theoden stared at Aragorn for a long moment. The ponderous look faded from his eyes and Theoden shook his head. "No. No, I dare not face Saruman in open field. We know too little of the enemy to take such a risk. We will flee to Helmsdeep."

"I must agree with Lord Aragorn," said Eothain. "Retreating to Helmsdeep will not stop Saruman. He will only ravage the land of Rohan before turning his eye to Helmsdeep. We should instead turn our eye to Saruman. Strike him before he strikes us."

"I don't think you need to worry about Saruman," I said.

Instantly, everyone turned to me.

"What do you mean?" asked Theoden, suspiciously.

"Well," I said, glancing around awkwardly. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. The men present kept staring at me. I didn't like to reveal the future. "Let's not be hasty and let nature take its course."

Theoden regarded me, suspiciously. For a moment I thought he was going to say something (perhaps kick me out of his council meeting), but then Theoden turned away. Eomer's gaze lingered on me. I couldn't tell if he was amused by my response or annoyed. Gandalf—however—knew there was something up. He raised his eyes and furrowed his brow. Perhaps he knew what I was heavily hinting at. Perhaps not. It's Gandalf. Who can ever tell what he's thinking?

"We make for Helmsdeep," said Theoden resolutely. "Tell the people to pack their things. Take only what provisions they need."

Aragorn seemed to stiffen, his face fixed in a permanent grimace. However, he did not speak out again Theoden, but only nodded his head grimly. Eothain had a similar reaction—though he dare not speak out against his king so vehemently. Gandalf seemed more resigned to the decision, though there was a hardening in his eyes that I had never seen before.

The council rose from their seats and began to take actions. Eomer and some of the others rose to bring news to the people of Edoras. Theoden still had some words to exchange with Eothain and the others. Gandalf had his own little secret council with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli.

I would have joined them, but at that moment, Gaenry and Taysend walked into the hall. They caught sight of me and grinned. (Well, Gaenry grinned. Taysend just rolled his eyes as I sprinted across the hall to join them.)

"How was your important meeting?" asked Gaenry.

"Great," I said. "Aragorn and Theoden got into a giant cat fight. And Theoden thought Aragorn stepped out of line and he threw a hissy fit. The two of them were going at it—hissing and scratching and hissing and scratching. Then Gandalf was sitting there like a Great Dane and he would growl to keep Theoden and Aragorn's cat fight in line. He succeeded for about two seconds and then they were hissing and scratching again. Then the Theoden-Cat declared that all the little Rohan-Cats were moving to Helmsdeep and the Aragorn-Cat did not even let out a meow of protest. So the Council of Cats came to an end and we are all here now.

"I did not understand a word of what she just said," muttered Taysend.

"Why were there cats in the meeting?" asked Gaenry.

I sighed. "I'm just a poor soul who's misunderstood. Basically, the whole meeting ended when Theoden declared that we were fleeing the Helmsdeep."

"Oh." Gaenry nodded. "Why did you not just say that in the first place?"

"I'm not sure what Helmsdeep is," I said. "A fortress, I know that. But people don't seem to like it very much."

"People have been gathering there ever since the raids began," said Taysend. "They like it very much."

"Raids?" I asked.

"Saruman sends his orcs and men from the mountains to attack the villages of Rohan. The people are forced to flee and they flee to Helmsdeep," said Gaenry.

"Oh. It's the safe house of Rohan." I nodded. "Sounds fun. Why do Aragorn and Eothain and Gandalf have a problem with the safe house?"

"There is no escape from Helmsdeep," said Aragorn.

I jumped and spun around to see the grim ranger standing behind me.

"Don't do that!" I cried. "I have a fragile heart."

"If Saruman decides to send his army of orcs to Helmsdeep and Rohan loses, there will be no rescue for men," said Aragorn, ignoring my panic attack. "Theoden is sorely underestimating what Saruman in capable of."

"Oh. So what are you going to do?"

"I am going to travel with Theoden to Helmsdeep," said Aragorn. "And Gandalf is going to—"

I Skipped.

"—find Erkenbrand of Westfold and bring reinforcements."

"Wah!" cried Gaenry, leaping backwards. "Where did she go?"

"She disappeared!" cried Taysend. "Vanished! Into thin air!"

"What kind of witchcraft is this?" asked Gaenry."

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "Do not worry. She does this all the time."

"All the time?" asked Taysend.

"What do we do?" asked Gaenry.

"You should go about your business and help the people of Edoras prepare for the long road to Helmsdeep," said Aragorn. "And do not worry about Ana. She will show up again. Eventually. She always does."

* * *

Okay, so I only found out about the last part later from Taysend. I wasn't present to hear Aragorn's wise advice. Instead, I was somewhere in the dark of Mirkwood, completely alone. The thick trees rose in a sweeping arch over my head, their branches knitted together to form a green canopy overhead. I had no way of knowing what time of day it was since the sky was completely hidden from view, but it must have been some time of day since the forest was still visible. I could see with perfect clarity the crisp, brown tree leaves that rested on the forest floor and the cracked rocks that covered the ground. The tree roots formed knotted patterns over the ground, zigzagging and crossing one another like serpents slithering about.

The last time I was in Mirkwood, I had just witnessed Boromir's death and the Majestic Company of Thorin Oakenshield had taken it upon themselves to cheer me up. I had sat alone under the spooky trees drowning in my sorrow. I did not know what time period I was in, but in that time, Mirkwood had not changed. The trees were still incredible creepy. The unending dank, darkness was still spooky. Even the crackle of leaves beneath my boots sent shivers up and down my spine.

"Hello?" I called out. "Anybody there?"

My only answer was the groaning of trees.

God, I hated Mirkwood. All those trees. They were alive and unfriendly. If I gave them the chance, the trees would probably open their trunks and swallow me whole. I would be sealed away inside a tree until I died. This forest frightened me.

I tread carefully amongst the tree roots, careful not to upset any particularly vengeful tree. At one point, I accidentally broke a branch off one tree. I screamed and leapt away from the tree, shouting apologies at the top of my lungs. That tree was one of the nice ones.

I wandered through the trees for God knows how long. Always careful. And then, I saw it, Up ahead, in the distance, between the thick tree trunks, there was a dim golden light. I didn't stop to think what it might be—trolls, goblins, evil things—I just sprinted forward, desperate to find some help. I burst through the thicket of trees and stumbled into the clearing. I found myself standing in a clearing. There was a little fire burning in the middle of the clearing, the white flames dancing elegantly. There were several figures standing about the fire, their eyes wide with shock. They were all blond. With those ridiculously perfect faces that make you hate them. And those pointy ears.

"Aw man," I said. "Elves."

"Who are you?" One of the elves pointed a blade at my throat. The elf was female. I hated her the first moment I saw her. She had long light brown hair that ended somewhere around her waist and a porcelain face. God damn, I hate attractive people.

"Who are you" I asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"You are not in a position to do the asking." The elf pressed the tip of her blade against my throat. She did not pierce the skin, but I could see the icy tip.

"Hey now," I said. "Let's not be feisty. I'm Ana Stonbit. I come in peace."

"And what are you doing in Mirkwood, Ana Stonbit?" asked the elf.

"I'm just passing through," I said. "I don't want to be in Mirkwood any more than you want me to be in Mirkwood. All these elves and these trees are a little bit too much for me. So you can just lower your knife and point me in the direction of the fastest way out of Mirkwood and I'll be on my way and we'll never have to meet again. Sound good? I think so. You do to? Okay, we're all in agreement. So I'll just be on my way. I'd say it was nice to meet you, but it really wasn't. So I'll just go."

I tried to walk away, but antoher one of the elves caught hold of my wrist and held me in place. This elf was male. An obnoxiously good-looking male, I might add.

"Stay put," said the male elf.

"For you? Anything," I said. "I usually don't dally with elves—Thorin would be ashamed of me—but for you, I'll make an exception."

"Galiel," said the female elf. "What does this little women speak of?"

"She speaks in fantasies, Tauriel," said Galiel, shaking my arm roughly. "I know her not."

"I'm Ana," I said again. "Fine. I don't like you either."

"She intruded upon our merrymaking," said one of the elves. (He was holding a wooden barrel—mostly likely wine—under one arm).

"The celebration will have to wait," said Tauriel. "We must bring the prisoner to the king."

"Is this really necessary?" I asked. "Don't you have some dwarves to go hate on?"

Tauriel shot me an irritable glare. "Come."

Galiel kept a firm hand on my shoulder. He pushed me through the forest as Tauriel led the way, weaving through the densely woven trees. The other elves followed. I later learned their names. There were five others besides Tauriel and Galiel, all male. Riwen was the one holding the barrel of wine. He talked way too much. (We were almost kin in that sense. Except he was an elf. We'll just say Riwen and I are estranged relatives.) Tundarion was the tall one with medium length blond hair. He had an easy smile and liked to party a little too much. Trevarie was the awkward little brother of Tundarion, who tagged along and tried to act as cool as his big brother, but failed miserably. It was adorable. (Like the elf version of Kili and Thorin. Except not as cool.) Lastiel was the kind of sarcasm. I kid you not. I have never heard him say anything that was not sarcastic and biting. Just wait. You'll see. Valier was a…You know, I don't remember a lot about Valier, just a lot of Mmhmms.

The eight of us marched through Mirkwood back to wherever Thranduil and his kin were waiting. Well, the elves didn't really march. They moved with graceful ease. I, on the other hand, blundered through the forest like a friggin' whale. And yes, a whale _can_ blunder through a forest. Oh wait. You don't even know what a whale is. Never mind.

"Can you be any louder?" asked Lastiel.

"Excuse me," I said. "I'm not a friggin' tree hugger like you elves. I don't spend my life in the forest prancing amongst the trees."

"Tree hugger?" asked Trevarie. "What is this phrase?"

"I think she means to say that we are huggers of trees," said Riwen. "Though I have to say that is a rather ridiculous statement. I have never hugged a tree in my existence. It would be rather awkward. I would have to spread my arms really wide and wrap them around the tree's trunk. Do you hug a tree around the trunk? Or would you hug a tree's branches?"

"I think you shake the tree's branches if you want to shake hands with the tree," I said. "If you hug the tree then you hug the trunk."

"But some of the trees have really large trunks," said Riwen. "I do not think I could hug those trees."

"Then just hug the skinny trees," I said.

"But I do not wish to be unfair to the large trees," said Riwen. "They would think I was showing preference to the skinny trees."

"Oh," I said. "So you don't want to seem like a tree-racist. I get it. Them trees are scary."

"Joy," said Lastiel. "She speaks the same language as Riwen."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"I do not know," said Tundarion. "Riwen is quite amusing when he has consumed too much wine. Perhaps if Ana drinks too much wine too, they will make an amusing pair."

"So your plan is to get me drunk?" I asked.

"It could be quite entertaining," said Tundarion, grinning.

"Do you recall that time Riwen drank too much wine and decided to take a swim in the river?" asked Trevarie eagerly. "But then he forgot about the biting fish that dwelled in the river?"

"Ah," said Riwen. "My behind was never right again."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"I didn't know elves could get drunk," I said. "Elladan and Elrohir are still sober even after the rest of us have passed out. And Legolas—the little git—is like, I feel something in the tips of my fingers. Stupid elf."

"Legolas?" asked Galiel, his grip on my shoulder tightening. "How do you know Legolas?"

"Er—What time is it?"

"Almost dusk," said Tundarion.

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"No," I said. "What time period? Have you thrown Thorin in jail yet?"

"Thorin?" asked Galiel. "Who is this Thorin you speak of? Why would we throw him in jail? Is he a dwarf?"

"No," I said. "Alright then. I haven't met Legolas yet. So—who is this Legolas you speak of? I only know the elf…Legia. Yes. I was talking about Legia. You must have misheard me. Legia. She's a wild one she is. She prances around like a little fairy and is like—oh look at me! Can I borrow your shiny sword so I can look at my reflection in the shiny metal? No Well, then I'll just steal your sword so I can look at my reflection in the shiny metal? What's that? You need it to fight the orcs who are attack you? Too bad."

"She sounds familiar," said Rewin. "But do you know who is worse? Legolas. He rises earlier every morning—even when he has consumed too much the night before—to ensure that his blond hair is perfect. He cannot stand a single strand out of place." Rewin fluffed his hair and mocked a high pitch voice. "Presentation is crucial, Rewin. I am a prince of Mirkwood. Even when celebrating with other elves who have consumed too much wine to know up from down, I must look my best." Rewin flicked his hair over his shoulder. "It is the heavy burden of being an elven princeling."

"You have Legolas down perfectly." I coughed. "I mean Legia. Wow. They sound like the same person."

"Perhaps," said Rewin. "Legia and Legolas are long lost twins. Thranduil might have been deceiving us all. You must bring this Legia to Mirkwood and we shall see."

"Alright," I said. (Never going to happen.) "Legia and Legolas are probably identical. Oh my God! What if Thranduil cannot tell them apart. He'll greet Legia as if she was Legolas and Legia will be so confused."

"You are genius!" cried Rewin. "And then we shall reveal the twins to Thranduil and he will be so shocked that he shall reveal the truth behind the origins to the twins to us."

"The world is difficult enough with only Riwen around," said Lastiel. "Now we must have two."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"You're just jealous," I said. "Riwen and I are like long lost siblings."

Riwen gasped. "You do not think we are?"

"No way," I said. "I am not related to an elf. Thorin would disown me."

"Who is this Thorin you keep mentioning?" asked Galiel.

"You do not like me?" asked Riwen, frowning.

"Well," I said. "I suppose we can be estranged step-siblings. You're now my elven step-brother."

Riwen laughed and lifted the wooden barrel of wine into the air. "Shall we drink to that?"

"I'm up for it!" I cried.

"Not now, Riwen," said Tauriel, her voice cracking through the air, filled with command.

"Why in Mirkwood not?" asked Riwel.

"We have arrived."

Tauriel pushed aside some branches and stepped past the trees into another clearing. The rest of us followed. There were more elves in this clearing—so many that I could not count them. There were many barrels of wine and music playing loudly. A great fire roared in the center of the clearing as elves—male and female—pranced about, laughing and drinking and having a good time. I spotted Legolas pretty easily. He was drinking a bottle of wine while talking to a red-headed female elf. (I always knew Legolas was a player.)

"Tauriel!" said one of the elves, catching sight of her. "Have you returned already?"

"We found this one wandering in the forest," said Tauriel, gesturing towards me.

I smiled and waved awkwardly.

The elf froze. His eyes narrowed in suspicious at the sight of me. However, Riwen stepped forward and wrapped one arm around my shoulders. "Do not fear, Tamuril, this is my estranged step-sister, Ana."

"She does not look like an elf," said Tamuril stiffly.

"Step-sister," I corrected. "We're sibling only through marriage."

"You created that relationship through your wild fantasies," said Galiel. "Do not try to pass them off as fact."

"Bring them to the king," said Tamuril.

"Man," I said. "Riwen is the only cool one among you."

"Ana!"

I looked up and saw the red-headed female elf that Legolas had been talking to earlier. She was sprinting across the clearing towards me. Only she was not an elf. Thin and bony with red hair and freckles—she was human. She was Bonnie.

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**A/N: Please review. It was my birthday yesterday... (Honestly) Thanks!**


	37. All Aboard The Party Moose

**XXXVII: All Aboard The Party Moose**

"Bonnie!" I cried, flinging my arms around hr shoulders in an embrace. "You're here! With the elves!"

"I was wondering where you had disappeared to!" said Bonnie. She released me from the hug and stepped back to grin at me, the freckles on her face becoming distorted with the smile. "Six months ago, I wake up in the forest alone and confused and worried as hell about you and Nick—and now I've found you've been wandering in Mirkwood all alone! I'm surprised your ass is all in one piece."

The two of us stood face to face in the clearing. Elves dance around the fire with loud music playing in the background. They were drinking and merrymaking as if there would be no tomorrow. (This was nothing out of the ordinary, they partied like this every night.) Most of the elves paid us not more attention that a curious glance. However, there were nine elves (Legolas, Tamuril, Tauriel, Galiel, Rewin, Tundarion, Trevarie, Lastiel, and Valier) gathered around, watching Bonnie

"Hi, Bonnie," I said. "Um—I haven't exactly been wandering through Mirkwood all this time…" I glanced left and right at the elves, all listening to my words carefully. "But, you know, now's not the time for boring chat. I can't believe you ended up in Mirkwood with the elves! I mean, I thought Nick had it bad spending his time in goblin town—but Bonnie! The elves! That's terrible!"

Bonnie laughed. "What you talking about? The elves are great!"

"Oh no!" I cried, covering my mouth with my hands. "They've converted you. You've become a tree hugger too!"

"What does she mean by tree hugger?" asked Tamuril.

"A hugger of trees," said Riwen. "My step-sister seems to think that we elves wander through Mirkwood opening our arms and embracing the trees."

"That is a rather odd action," said Tamuril.

"I can't beliece you don't like elves," said Bonnie. "They are _some_ party animals. Though I guess you don't like drinking."

I laughed. "Me? Don't like drinking? I was converted. By…" I trailed off as I saw Legolas approaching the group. His long blond hair was just as blond and slick as ever. Stupid pretty boy elf.

"Hi," I said.

"Do I know you?" asked Legolas.

"You will," I said. "I'm Ana."

"Of course, he will know you," said Lastiel. "You just introduced yourself to him."

"He'll understand in sixty years or so," I said.

"He will probably have forgotten this meeting by that point," said Bonnie. "And what are you talking about?"

"He'll remember me," I said. "Oh, he'll remember me." I turned to Bonnie and beamed at her. "So, darling, tell me about Mirkwood. You said you've been here for six months. Be honest now—how bad is it? I don't know how you survived the elves. Yeah, they party hard and drink excessive amounts of alcohol because they can't get friggin' drunk! But then there's the poetry and the music and the sissy elvishness. Is it true that they all spend five hours in the morning just preparing their hair?"

"I do no such thing," said Riwen.

"Of course, you do not," said Tundarion. "We've all seen your hair in the morning. It is a nest sit for rats."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"Ah," said Riwen. "Jealously is a burden of the less fortunate. You are all envious of my lush waterfall of blond hair."

"Who describes their hair as a waterfall?" asked Bonnie.

"No one," said Riwen. "Because no one besides me has hair befitting that description."

"Anyway," said Bonnie, cutting across him and turning to me. "You underestimate how incredible elvish parties are. I mean, Thranduil is the party king. He likes to pretend to be all graceful and cool—but when he gets drunk—damn, that man is funny. So, he has this elk—"

"He has an elk?" I asked.

"He doesn't ride a horse," said Bonnie. "He's too majestic for that. So he rides and elk."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"Hold up." I practically shoved my hand into Bonnie's face as I stopped her from saying another word. "You did not just throw out the word 'majestic' to describe an _elf_."

"Get your hand out of my face, girl," said Bonnie, pushing my hand away. "So what if I called an elf majestic. Thranduil is definitely majestic."

"He's about as majestic as my behind," I said.

"You don't have an ass," said Bonnie.

"My point exactly. Anyone who considers and _elf_ to be majestic has obviously not met Thorin Majestenshield. He is the most majestic thing to walk this Earth. When he was born, the sun did not rise for three days because it would not handle a brilliance of his majesty. His majesty shines through the darkness like a beacon. He leads his company through the dangers of the world with pure majesty. Do no insult Thorin Majestenshield of he will unleash his full majesty on you—_and you don't want that_."

Bonnie stared at me for a long moment. "Girl—relax. You have way to hyped up about this majestic thing."

"Bonnie," said Legolas. "I think that your friend does not hand everything piece in the right place." He pointed to his head.

"She doesn't," said Bonnie. "She's kooky."

"You're kooky," I said. "No. Your elf-king is kooky. He rides a friggin' moose."

"He rides an elk," said Trevarie.

"He rides a moose," I said. "The animal might have originally been an elk, but then the elf-king sat on the elk's back and he turned into a moose. That's how unmajestic elves are."

"You do not like elves very much," said Riwen sadly.

"You're the exception, step-brother," I said. "You're pretty awesome for an elf."

Riwen grinned at me.

"When did you become step-siblings with Riwen?" asked Bonnie. "Did you parents get a recent divorce and remarry or something? How do your parents even know elves?"

"It's a long story," I said.

"It involves much wine consumption," said Riwen.

"Those are always the best stories," said Tundarion.

"We should crack of a barrel," I said. "And help ourselves. And then I'll tell you the story of how I came to be step-siblings with Riwen."

"It is an epic tale," said Riwen.

"Filled with tears," I added.

"And laughter."

"And majesty."

"And Ana's non-existent behind."

"That's the best part."

"That is the worst part."

"The second best part is Mr. Squeaky, the rat that lives in Riwen's hair."

"I have a rat that lives in my hair?"

"Named Mr. Squeaky."

Tauriel sighed and rested her forehead and against the palm of her hand. "You two are not actual step siblings. You made up the relationship on the walk here."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"That's what we want you to think," I said.

"Ana," said Bonnie, elbowing me in the ribs. "You have not changed a bit." She caught me by the hand and started pulling me away from the group of elves. "Come on. I want to show you around."

"No," said Tauriel. With a motion for her, Galiel reached out and caught hold of my other arm. Tauriel stepped forward and glowered at me. "We must bring her before Thranduil."

"Is that really necessary?" asked Legolas. "She seems reasonably trustworthy. Though she does constantly insult elves. And she is short. Like a dwarf. But Bonnie knows her—that does count in her favor."

"Aw, Legolas," I said, smiling at him. "Aren't you sweet? Why can't you be this nice to me in the future?"

Legolas frowned at me, uncomprehending. "I have just compared you to a dwarf—that is far from a compliment."

"Nicest thing you could ever say to me," I said. "Dwarves are friggin' epic. You should all take lessons on majesticness from the dwarves. I'm telling you. They are the epitome of dedication and bonding and all those strong qualities required of eladers. I aspire to be a dwarf one day. They are my role models in life. Particularly Thorin. That dwarf—he puts all other dwarves to shame. Especially Kili. You cannot even call Kili a dwarf. He doesn't even have a beard."

"She admires those short, grizzly little mountain dwellers," said Tundarion, shuddering in disgust. "She is most definitely not trustworthy."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

At this point, a large group of elves had stopped their celebration and had gathered at the distance to listen to the conversation. They did not dare join the conversation themselves, but rather listened with half curiosity and half amusement.

"You should take lessons on majesty from Thorin," I said. "Then you would be less of tree huggers and more epic."

"I still do not understand what she means by the expression 'tree huggers'," said Tamuril.

"There is an easy step-by-step process on how to become as majestic as Thorin," I said. "Firstly, you need a tragic back story. If you don't have a tragic back story then the whole deal is off. You must simply go on living your pitiful existence as unmajestic elves. Though is it really necessary to use those two words together. Unmajestic and elf practically mean the same thing." I shook my head. "I'm getting off topic. If you really want to become majestic, but you don't have a tragic back story, you can always invent one. Let's take Lastiel for instance."

"Fortunate me," said Lastiel. (Note the sarcasm.)

"Lastiel, doesn't have a tragic back story."

"Actually," said Trevarie. "He does have a tragic back story. His wife and child were killed by—"

"Like I said—Lastiel doesn't have a tragic back story. So we program him with one. Lastiel parents were killed by orcs, leaving him an orphan in the forest of Mirkwood. Okay. Now that we have your tragic back story in place, we need the brooding. You cannot be majestic without majestic brooding. It's the depth of your soul that makes you majestic. The brooding is the easy part—unless you're Kili. You just stand there and think about your tragic back story. Okay? Lastiel? Show us how."

Lastiel glared at me.

"Perfect," I said. "He already has the brooding part down. That does not make you majestic though. It makes much more than brooding to make you majestic. Third step—you need a group of admirers. Well…" I glanced around at the group of elves surrounding us. "I supposed this can be your fanclub. The Lastellians, they'll call themselves. Legolas is the president. Tauriel is the secretary. Galiel is the treasurer. And…Valier is the mascot."

"I do not wish to be in charge of any such club," said Legolas.

"Now that we have the formation of your fanclub underway," I said. "That brings us to step four—the formation of your anti fanclub. No one can be majestic without others to be jealous of your majesty. Now, since the elves here are part of your fanclub…"

"The dwarves can form the anti fanclub," said Traverie.

"No," I said flatly. "The dwarves are too majestic to be part of anyone's anti fanclub. No, Lastiel's anti fanclub can be the orcs that killed his parents. He has an ongoing feud with those orcs. They cannot bear the thought of such a near-majestic being that they hunt Lastiel relentlessly."

"Is he majestic enough yet?" asked Galiel, sighing.

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"Not nearly," I said. "We still have step five—ridiculous good-looks despite being small in statue." I looked over Lastiel. "Well, you're tall. That's a minus. But you are ridiculously good-looking,"

"What does height have to do with it?" asked Bonnie.

"Think about it," I said. "It's easy for a good-looking tall person to be attractive. But for a short person—now that is a challenge that only the most majestic dwarves can rise to."

"I'm assuming Thorin is one hot dwarf," said Bonnie.

"It's not that his face is especially attractive," I said. "Though, yes, he is fairly good-looking. But that his whole attitude is attractive. The way he holds himself. The way he broods. The way he commands the company—that is one attractive dwarf."

"I think Ana has been struck by an arrow," said Tundarion. "An arrow of love." He mimed having an arrow through his chest, collapsing in Lastiel's arms. Lastiel rolled his eyes and pushed Tundarion away.

"So with all these thing Lastiel can be majestic," said Riwen eagerly.

"Lastiel? Majestic?" I asked. "All these steps can bring him closer to the beauty that is called majesty, but Lastiel? Majestic? Majesty is something you are inherently born with. Lastiel is an elf. Therefore he can never be majestic."

Riwen looked heartbroken. "So I too can never become majestic?"

I patted Riwen on the shoulder comfortingly. "You can always be a sexy elf."

"But I wanted to be majestic," said Riwen. "Then you could look at your step-brother and be proud."

"You are ridiculous," said Galiel.

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"Why would you want to have anything in common with a dwarf?" asked Tauriel.

"You do not have any siblings," said Riwen. "You would not understand!"

"You do not have any siblings either," said Tauriel.

"That is it," said Tamuril. "She has taken control of Riwen's brain and addled his wits."

"I think you mean brainwashed," I said. "And, no, I haven't. We just happen to have become very close step-siblings."

"It must be some kind of sorcery," said Tundarion.

"She is a witch!" cried Trevarie.

"I heard rumor of a necromancer in these woods," said Galiel. "Perhaps the necromancer has come to stay with the elves of Mirkwood."

"Necromancer?" I asked. "Isn't that one of those spell castor things who bring things back to life things?"

Legolas turned to his fellow elves. "You suspect _her_ of being the dreaded necromancer?"

"She could be acting," said Tauriel.

"The necromancer must have no shame," said Galiel.

"What is this commotion that interferes with my celebration?"

Instantly, the elves stiffened. Their bodies seemed to go rigid and their eyes widened in horror. The only elf present who did not seem mortified at the sound of this new voice was Legolas. He seemed more resigned than frightened.

Legolas turned to the approaching figure astride an elk. It was a tall elf who was dressed in a silver robes and had long, blond hair that was decorated with a backwards crown. He looked like the King of the Tree Huggers. I'm not kidding. His crown looked as through it was made of silver twigs that struck out from behind his head like a bird's nest. I could definitely see this elf running around the forest on the back of his elk hugging trees—the skinny ones _and_ the fat ones.

"Father," said Legolas. "You have returned already."

"Yes," said Thranduil. "The clearing I was supposed to meet the elves in was empty. I returned here, only to find that Tauriel and Galiel have been shirking their duties."

"We were not," said Tauriel indignantly. "This girl came running into the clearing. We were suspicious of her so we brought her to you so that you may decide what to do with her."

"Hi," I said. "I'm Ana. All this formality and threatening isn't really necessary. I'm just passing through."

"You're not going to stay?" asked Bonnie.

"What? You're coming with me," I said.

"Why?" asked Bonnie.

"So we can go home."

Boonie blinked. At first, she was confused, but then her eyes widened as comprehension filled her mind. "We can go home?" she asked. "You know a way to get home."

I sighed. This was going to take a lot of explaining. "I _am_ the way home. I'll explain when we get home."

Thranduil frowned. He kept looking from me to Bonnie to me to Bonnie over and over again. The suspicion never left his eyes.

"So," I said. "I like your moose."

Thranduil looked down at his elk an then looked back up at me. "It is an elk."

"It's an awesome moose," I said. "Does it party as hard as the elves? Is it your special party moose? Do you have multiple moose who you ride for different occasions? Do you have a party moose and a war moose and a funeral moose and a bedtime moose? That would be awesome. Do you have an army of moose that wait in the forest of Mirkwood and live their own lives, but when you call them, the moose will come to aid you?"

Thranduil stared at me for a good long moment. Then, he turned to Bonnie and asked, "Is she serious?"

Bonnie sighed and nodded. "She does this all the time."

"I like her," said Tundarion. "I cannot wait to see what she is like after having consumed too much wine."

"I would rather not find out," said Tauriel.

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

"I'm excited to see," said Bonnie. "This is the Ana who thought going to bars and getting wasted was a waste of time."

"I told you. I was converted," I said.

"By who?"

I paused. "People."

"I have the wine," said Riwen, showing up the wooden barrel. "Shall we begin the drinking?"

Before I knew what was going on, Tundarion had shoved a cup of wine in my hand and I was practically chugged the stuff down. As soon as I had finished one cup another cup—filled with purple wine—took its place. It didn't take long before the wine got to my head. The world was spinning. The elves were laughing. And singing. And dancing. And talking. (This next part might be a little blurry, so I might makes parts of it up here and there. Bear with me. I was completely out of it.)

"Damn," I said. "You people all look like moose now."

"That would be because you are talking to the elk," said Galiel.

I reached out a hand and patted the side of the elk's face. Thranduil glared at me and the elk tried to bite my fingers off.

"Nice moose," I said. I wandered back across the clearing. There were lots of flashing lights. I almost fell several times, but Bonnie caught me by the arm and held me upright. We soon joined a very drunk Riwen and Tundarion who were sitting on a table and singing some elvish drinking song at the top of their lungs. (They had pretty elvish voices even when as drunk as hell.)

"I don't think that moose likes me very much," I said.

"Of course not," said Tundarion. "He is an elk. You cannot even get that right. Why would the elk like you?"

"No, no," I said. "I don't think that's it. I just thinking animals inherently don't like me. Do I give off some sort of anti-animal smell?"

"That can be your anti fanclub," said Bonnie. "You have one of the steps down."

"Except she in incapable of brooding," said Tundarion.

"And she does not have a fanclub," said Riwen. "Just an anti fanclub."

"Shut up," I said. "I have fans. You just don't know them."

"The dwarves?" asked Tundarion, laughing.

"Well, no," I said. "Thorin is too majestic to be a part of anyone's fanclub. But… I have a fanclub in Rohan. Except they make fun of me. Okay, I have a fanclub in Gondor. Except Denethor tends to throw me in jail. The hobbits like me. Sort of. I think…"

"That means no," said Bonnie. "You are fanclubless."

"Poor, Sis," said Rewin. "I shall be a part of your fanclub."

"The only one," said Bonnie.

"Some friend you are," I said. "Rewin is such a good brother." I tried to hug Rewin, but I missed and almost did a face plant on the ground. Bonnie caught my arm and held me upright.

"Tundarion," said Bonnie irritably. "You gave her too much to drink."

"She only had four cups of wine," said Tundarion. "How would I know that she would become intoxicated so quickly?"

"It's elvish wine, idiot," said Bonnie. "I'm surprised she lasted four cups."

"It is amusing," said Tundarion. "Besides, Thranduil trusts her more now that she is drunk."

Bonnie nodded. "Well, I can't argue with that."

"You know," I said, sitting on top of the table next to Rewin. "I really hate elves."

"Careful," said Tundarion. "You are amongst elves."

"Their friggin' nancy boys," I said. "Musicians and dancers most of them. And those that can fight mainly use bows and arrows. They're like—look at me; I can hit a target from _really, really, really far away_. Cowards, the whole lot of them. I say. Give me a majestic dwarf any day." I paused. "You know what every elf needs."

"What does every elf need?" asked Tundarion eagerly.

"I think sister is about to say something she is about to regret," said Riwen.

"Stop while you're behind," said Bonnie, groaning.

I hiccupped and laughed. "Every elf needs to take a really long, pointy branch of a Mirkwood tree and friggin' drive the stick up into their behind and leave it there for a good day. And then, only then, will elves know how the rest of the world sees them."

Bonnie sighed. "Yeah. I was right."

Valier had stopped mid-sip of wine and turned to stare at me. His blue eyes narrowed and he pulled the cup of wine away from his lips.

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "Mmhmm me to death? If you want, I can help you find the pointiest stick."

Valier took a step toward me. "You little—" He said something in elvish that I couldn't understand, but apparently it was bad, because the elves all gasped and exchanged horrified glances.

"What is it? What did he say?"

"Nothing good," said Bonnie.

"But I wanna know!" I cried. "I wanna know!"

Riwen leaned over a muttered the translation in my ear. I will never repeat the meaning of what Valier said. You'll take offense. Actually, I think every race in Middle Earth except the elves would take offense at that comment.

I gasped. "Valier! You should stick to you mmhmms. They're much nicer!" I paused and then giggled. "Did you hear the stick pun I just made? Get it? Stick?"

"I think we should leave now," said Bonnie, glancing over her shoulders at the numerous elves who were glaring at me and plotting my demise. "Like right now, Ana."

Unfortunately, I was too drunk to notice my impending death. I jumped off the table and almost made a crash landing. I caught hold of Bonnie and managed to stand upright.

"Whew," I said, grinning. "That was close."

"Ana," said Bonnie. "We should leave now."

"Leave?" I asked.

"What happened to the way home?"

"Well, yeah," I said. "I can get us home. But I don't have control over it." I paused. "Unless…"

"Ana," said Bonnie. "You crazy girl—what are you thinking?"

"Tundarion," I said. "Try and kill me."

Bonnie groaned. "Ana, you have lost it. I've always known you were insane, but this is ridiculous."

"It makes perfect sense!" I cried. "Besides I said—_try_ and kill me. Not just kill me. I'm obviously not planning on dying."

"If you need someone to try and kill you," said Tundarion. "Why do you not just ask Valier. He seems more than willing."

"Mmhmm." Valier nodded.

I screamed and flung my arms around Bonnie's neck. "He's a maniac!"

"Well," said Bonnie. "You did say that you would help him shove a stick up his ass."

"Did I?" I asked. "I don't remember this."

"It was less than five minutes ago."

"That was probably the alcohol talking."

"Bonnie! Help me!"

"You dug your own grave on this one. Now let me go."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

I Skipped.

"Yes."

"No."

Bonnie stopped talking.

"No."

She stared at the surroundings.

"No."

"Ana… Why are we at the mall?"

"No." I paused. And then looked around. We were standing in the middle of the sitting area. My arms were still wrapped around Bonnie's shoulders as if she was about to piggyback me and Bonnie was still holding onto my wrists, trying to pull me off. People were staring at us, open mouthed. A bald old man with a newspaper was staring at us from the couch. A little girl had dropped her new Ariel doll. Her mother was unsure if she should grab her daughter and run or just stare at us in horror. A group of the three women had even stopped walking. They stood in the middle of the carpeted sitting area, clutching their shopping bags and gawking.

"Ana…" said Bonnie. "We're back."

I let go of Bonnie and stepped away from her. I grinned at the shoppers and waved. "Hi. I'm just passing through. I'll be gone again before you know it. Don't worry about me. I might be running away from goblins, fleeing from a balrog, being hated on by drunk elves, avoiding prison in Gondor, saving a bewitch king—you know, the usual. But you guys won't know it because you're all so wrapped up in your simple little lives. So enjoy the moment."

They stared at me.

"We're back…" said Bonnie, still in shock.

The drunk me kept on rambling. "I'm like a little animal in the zoo. Come look at me, look at me, look at the half-crazy girl who is half in this world and half in the other. She doesn't know where she is, what time it is, and why on Earth any of this is happening. So come! Gawk! Stare! It's like entertainment to go along with your shopping!"

"I haven't been here in six months," said Bonnie.

"Actually," I said. "It's been about a year. You were on a normal timeline, it was me who was all over the place. One moment I'm with Thorin and Company and then next I'm friggin' sixty years in the future being chased by the nazgul. It's a complicated situation. But, yeah, we must be approaching my twenty-second birthday. Ah, that reminds me. You weren't here for your twenty-second birthday. Happy birthday, Bonnie! You're on the missing persons list!"

"A year?" whispered Bonnie. "Missing persons list? Ana? What happened to me?"

I swallowed. "Oh. Nothing out of the ordinary. I might have just accidentally transported you to another world. And then…accidentally…lost you."

Bonnie stared at me.

"I tried really hard to get you back! It's just not that easy to find you! I don't have any control. The Skipping decides! I Skipping didn't want me to find you until now! That's all! Honestly!"

"Ana…" she said slowly.

"Yes?"

"What did you _do_?"

I smiled sheepishly. "I Skipped."

And right about then, Bonnie jumped on me and tried to rip all my hair out. I don't think she was very happy with the whole concept of Skipping.

* * *

**A/N: My gift unto you. **

**Please? Review?**


	38. The Greatest Fear

**XXXVIII: The Greatest Fear**

"You got to spend six months partying with elves!?" cried Nick. He released her from the hug and stepped back to survey Bonnie suspiciously. We were standing in the mall parking lot besides Nick old, beaten down car.

"Yeah," said Bonnie. "Where were you?"

"I was playing court jester to a bunch of goblins," said Nick.

"I still don't understand," I said.

"Understand what?" asked Nick.

"How did you manage to survive the goblins?" I asked. "Your jokes aren't that funny."

"You lack a refined sense in jokes," said Nick. "If I remember correctly, your goblin joke almost got us all killed."

"And her elf insults," said Bonnie. "Who in their right mind would tell an elf to take a pointy stick and shove it up his ass?"

"I didn't use the word ass," I said. "It makes it seem slightly more polite that way."

Nick's eyes narrowed at me. Then he turned to Bonnie. "Is she drunk?"

"We were partying with the elves," said Bonnie. "Of course, she's drunk."

"They have strong wine," I said, nodding.

"She's cray cray," said Nick, shaking his head.

"I'm cray cray every single day day," I said. I doubled over, clutching my stomach and laughing. "That's great!"

"She's lost it," said Bonnie.

"Get her in the back of the car," said Nick. "I'll drive her home."

"You'll make her sick," said Bonnie. "With your driving."

"Well," said Nick. "Either I can drive her home or we can leave her on the side of the rode to hitchhike."

"Back of the car it is," said Bonnie.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "I'm not drunk." I took two steps towards Nick's car and somehow ended up turned around, facing the mall again. "Whoa. How did that happen?"

"Elvish wine?" asked Nick.

"Elvish wine," said Bonnie.

"Damn. Where can I get me some of that stuff?"

Bonnie whacked Nick over the back of his head. "Idiot."

She grabbed me by the arm and steered me in the right direction. Somehow, my two friends managed to get the drunk me into the back of Nick's car. And we were off back to my apartment—with Nick behind the wheel. Needless to say, _that_ sobered me up.

"You demon!" I screamed, clutching the car door. "Demon! Devil! Drive like a normal person!"

"Go to happy place," muttered Bonnie. "Go to happy place. Go to happy place."

"You people overreact," said Nick. "Karen thinks my driving's fine."

"She's lying!" I wailed.

"Karen?" asked Bonnie. "What happened to Joanna?"

"Joanna was a little bitch," I said. "Karen's likeable."

"What is this?" asked Bonnie. "I've been away for a year and Nick has a new girlfriend—not a big surprise, actually—but then Ana _likes_ Nick's girlfriend."

"At least, Nick's terrible driving has stayed the same," I said.

We reached a stop light and Nick screeched to a halt. Bonnie and I breathed sighs of relief at this momentary freedom.

"So, Bonnie," said Nick. "Tell us about the elves."

"Friggin' tree huggers," I muttered.

"I don't get why you hate elves so much," said Bonnie. "What did they ever do to you?"

"She's a manly she-dwarf," said Nick. "Hating elves is in he DNA."

"Yeah," said Bonnie. "Except she's not actually a dwarf, so your explanation makes no sense."

"I don't hate all elves," I said. "I like Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen. And Riwen. Never forget about Riwen." I turned to Nick. "Riwen is my estranged step-brother."

The light turned green and Nick stepped on the gas pedal. Bonnie and I screamed and held on for dear life.

"But Bonnie," said Nick. "How did you meet the elves? According to Ana they just throw strangers into prison cells and leave them to rot there."

"Those cells are old for dwarves," said Bonnie. "Thranduil even nicknamed his prison the Dwarf Pen."

"Stupid elf," I muttered.

"When Ana first _dumped_ me in Middle Earth," said Bonnie, shooting me a venomous glare over her shoulder. "I was in Mirkwood. Completely alone. It was _scary_. There were shadows everywhere and creatures that I'm pretty sure wanted to rip out my jugular and devour my intestines were constantly watching me."

I cringed. "Sorry…"

"I was pretty certain that there was no way out of Mirkwood. So the, in the depths of despair, from out of the shadows came the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"If you're going to say an elf than I'm going to puke," I said. "I mean it."

Bonnie opened her mouth to speak, but Nick cut across her. "Don't say it. I like my car clean and puke-free."

"Oh, um, it was an, an, an, a unicorn." Bonnie made a face. "Okay, so this was the hottest unicorn I have ever seen. I stared at the unicorn in awe and the unicorn stared at me—in less than awe. And I swear, I thought that that unicorn was a saint. But then the unicorn pulled his bow back and pointed an arrow at my face."

"Stupid unicorn," I said.

"So the unicorn brought me back into the forest to meet with the head unicorn, who also happened to be this unicorn's father. There were other unicorns in the clearing that I was brought too and all the other unicorns were getting very drunk. Even the head unicorn was pretty drunk at this point. So I went before the head unicorn and explained the weirdness of my situation. Well, the head unicorn was so drunk that he started to cry at the very mention of me being alone. The head unicorn decided to make me an honorary unicorn."

"Bonnie," I said in disgust. "You've gone over to the dark side."

"I don't think unicorns are considered a part of the dark side," said Nick.

"I'm not done telling my story," said Bonnie. "So, the next morning the head unicorn woke up and didn't remember who I was. He wanted to throw me in the Dwarf Pen, but the unicorn prince said that I was now an honorary unicorn and the head unicorn had to respect that. The head unicorn reluctantly agreed to let me stay in his unicorn home with the other unicorns. And that's where I was until you found me."

"You had it easy," said Nick. "You should see goblins party."

Bonnie grinned. "No one parties like unicorns."

"Goblins try and eat each other."

"Unicorns do too," said Bonnie. "One time, Riwen got _really_ drunk and tried to eat Valier. So Valier went all ninja-unicorn on his ass and beat up Riwen. But in the process, Valier accidentally hit Lastiel and, well, Lastiel doesn't like to be hit. So there was this massive fight of kicking and biting and scratch and somehow they all managed to come out of that looking graceful and beautiful." Bonnie laughed. "You think I got off easy? My self esteem was beaten to a pulp every time I looked at those damn elves."

I puked in the back of Nick's car.

"Unicorns!" cried Bonnie. "Unicorns! Those damn unicorns!"

"Man, Bonnie," said Nick. "You're cleaning that up!"

* * *

Bonnie did not clean the back of Nick's car. I did. Though, personally, I think Bonnie should have. I warned them I would throw up if they mentioned elves. The mixture of wine, Nick's driving, and the thought of elves was just too much for my poor stomach. The back of Nick's car suffered the consequences.

Okay, enough of that disgusting topic. I can tell by the look that you're giving me that you are not interested in the goings-on in the back of Nick's car. Fair enough. Don't run away! I'm moving on! I'll be real quick.

I cleaned out Nick's car. I called my parents, told them I was okay. I stayed in my apartment for awhile. I avoided Jack like the plague. I hung out with Nick. I hung out with Bonnie. I hung out with Karen. I looked for a job. I did not get a job. I was reminded that my life sucked.

Wait! I'm getting there! I'm getting there!

So, one day, I was making myself ramen noodle soup in the microwave and chatting on the phone with Bonnie at the same time.

"Movie" I asked.

"Yeah. There's a new horror movie out."

"Is it the one with the little girl stalking the children?" I asked. "Because I will not see that one. Remember the last time I saw a horror movie where a little girl was the killer? The one where the five-year-old girl kidnapped her classmates and stabbed them to death with a pair of scissors? I freaked out for a week every time you held a pair of scissors in art class."

"Oh yeah," said Bonnie, her voice cracking through the phone. "That was funny."

"No. No. No. No. No."

"So movie?" asked Bonnie. "It's the one with the possessed kid. Nick is bringing Karen and I need a date."

The microwave beeped and I pulled the Styrofoam cup of ramen noodles out.

"I don't—Ah!"

The hot water spilled over the edges of the cup, scorching my bare hand. I instantly dropped the cup. Water and noodles spilled over the floor. I danced out of the range of the chicken broth.

"Friggin' frig," I said.

"What happened?" asked Bonnie. "You didn't Skip, did you?"

"If I had Skipped, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. Middle Earth doesn't have reception." I groaned and grabbed a dishtowel from the counter. "There goes my dinner." I knelt down on the kitchen floor and started mopping up the spilt chicken broth with the dishtowel.

"You should bring me with you next time you Skip."

I stopped, mid-clean, and shifted the phone in my hand awkwardly. "What?"

"I know you have no control over it, but damn it's fun. You should definitely try and bring me next time. We can jump off a building together. Now that'll be some serious bonding time."

I grabbed the garbage can from beside the counter and used the towel to scoop up the fallen noodles.

"I really want to meet Thorin. I don't believe that he's really as majestic as you say. And Faramir sounds pretty awesome. And Legolas! I want to see Legolas sixty years in the future! He'll be so surprised!"

I tossed the noodles in the trashcan. They made a dull thud as they struck the bottom of the trashcan.

"Ana? Ana? Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You were going all silent on me. That is not normal, girl. Are you getting sick on me?"

"What are you talking about? I'm just cleaning. Do you know how gross it is to clear ramen noodles off the floor? It's not as gross as cleaning ice cream off the floor. Remember that time Nick came over with ice cream for me and him, but not for you? And then, you got angry and tried to steal Nick's ice cream—and it ended up spilling all over the floor. And then you two fled the apartment and left me to clean up the mess."

"Oh yeah…" There was a pause on Bonnie's end of the line. "Are you mad at me?"

"Yeah," I said. "You didn't help me clean up the friggin' ice cream."

"Ana."

"What?"

"Ana."

"What?"

"Ana."

"What?"

"Ana."

"Almost done cleaning." I dropped the filthy dishtowel in the trash along with the noodles and broth. "Paper towels."

I could hear her sigh crackle through the telephone line. "Cleaning is not a healthy way to vent your rage."

"Bonnie."

"Ana."

"Bonnie."

"Tell me. Just talk it out. You like talking."

"I—"

I Skipped.

Still pressing my cell phone to my ear, I looked around the cave. It was a cave. I was sure it was a cave. But a cave where—that part I had no idea. The cave was dark, damp, and cramped. The moist stone walls seemed to be caving in upon themselves, as if they were on the verge of collapsing and would come crashing down on my head at any second. The cave offered none of the vast, openness and warmth that the dwarven halls of Erebor and Moria provided. How odd that two places—both underground—should provoke two different emotions in me. Both were made of stone. Both were inaccessible to sunlight. Both were tunnels made for no man. And yet, they were so different.

I used my cell phone as a flashlight. The pale, blue light fell upon the dank walls of the cave—and _urg_. The walls were not bare stone, but a mess of bones and cobwebs. White, sticky thread coated the walls like a thick veil. Skeletons—sometimes half formed, sometimes only a decrepit bone or two—clung to the spider web as if their lives depended on it. Empty eye sockets glared out at me.

A twitching ball of spider web dangled above my head. I shone a shaking light above my head and, out from the depths of the trembling ball, a black eye stared out at me.

I clasped a hand out my mouth and gagged. I nearly dropped the cell phone.

I hate spiders. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I _hate_ spiders. They have all those legs and those eyes and they're black and hairy and they make webs and they suck their food dry. Urg. They're just icky and gross.

You know my fear of heights? Yeah? My fear of spiders is ten times worse.

"Bonnie…" I said to my phone. Some small part of me hoped Middle Earth magically started receiving reception. There was no answer. "Help me…" My voice was nothing more than a squeak. "Help?"

The cell phone was the only light in this cave. Without the phone, I would have been left in pure darkness. Alone. Blind. Amongst the cobwebs and the spiders.

A shiver raced up my spine and I wrapped my arms around my shoulders. Oh God, this was disgusting. I felt like a thousand spiders were crawling up the skin of my legs. Their little legs pricking my skin. They scampered up my legs, across my stomach and down my arms and up my neck until they covered every inch of my body.

Arg! I'm giving myself nightmares!

I shook my head. I had to focus. I knew that. I shouldn't think of the spiders. I should think of happy things. Like Thorin's majesty. What I wouldn't give for some of Thorin's majesty right now. What was it that Galadriel said to Frodo? "I give you the light of my majesty for when all other lights go out." Yeah. I needed Thorin around for situations like these. His majesty burns so brightly in the dark. Plus, you know, I wouldn't have said no to having a sturdy dwarf by my side.

The next part…Well, I don't know how this next part of the story happened. I don't know if it was instinct or some amount of foresight on my part that saved my life. I didn't hear anything. Other than the sound of my own breathing, the cave was dead silent. There was no clue and no warning. I turned around on a sheer whim. And—bam—found myself face to face with a giant spider.

When I said that I'm terrified of spiders, I meant the little tiny spiders that you find crawling around the rim of your bathtub or sitting on the headboard of your bed. The little creepy spiders. This was a _giant_ spider. And when I say giant, I mean giant. The spider was at least twice the height of a full grown man and three or four times his height long. She was massive. Her eight legs protruded from her body at awkward angles, resting on all sides of the curved walls of the cave. She had thousand of black, glassy eyes embedded in her fat head. Her pincers snapped open and closed as she gazed at me and her pulsing sting bounced up and down behind her, visible beneath her body.

For a moment, for a dreadfully long moment, the spider and I stared at each other.

We had two very different perspectives on the matter. The spider saw me as a juicy morsel, about to be wrapped up in sticky spider web and dangled from the ceiling to soak of the flavor a little before she sank her pincers into me and devoured me alive and wriggling. She waited for her moment to strike. I, on the other hand, was paralyzed with fear. The spider might have had this great plan for how to capture me and devour me—but me? All that was going through my mind was: That's a big spider.

The spider took a step forward, all eight of her legs working seamlessly to make the movement possible. Her pincers clacked together menacingly, inches from my face.

I stared. The spiders black eyes gleamed with delight. I stared. The spider's scattered white hairs stood on end. I stared. The spider's leathery hide bumped against the cave walls. I stared. The spider's pincer throbbed hungrily. I fled.

"Not like this! Not like this! Not like this! Not like this! Not like this! Not like this! I don't do spiders!" I screamed at the top of my lungs until my throat felt like splitting in two. "Don't touch me! Go away! No spider web! No spider web! You can't eat me! I don't taste good! I don't taste good!"

The spider did not listen to me. She charged after me, maneuvering gracefully through the tunnel. She was almost upon me, her pincers opening and closing rapidly.

I yelped and took a right turn—whack!

I screamed and leapt away from the meaty substance I had ran into. "Get out of my way! Out of my way! I don't want to be nobody's breakfast! Or lunch! Or dinner! I don't know what time of day it is! It's dark! But I don't taste good! It doesn't matter what time of day it is! I never taste good! I taste like vinegar! I taste like honey and vinegar mixed together in one vat and poured over a chocolate bar. I taste like that! I taste really gross!"

"Ana?"

I opened my eyes and stared at the little hobbit in front of me.

"Sam?"

"Ana!" cried Sam. His blue eyes widened in a mixture of surprise, joy, and fear. "What are you doing here?"

"The spider!" I cried, looking wildly over my shoulder. The spider was gone. I spun around in circles, searching for the beast. It was no where to be found.

"What are you searching for/" asked Sam, looking over his shoulder too.

"The spider," I said. "It was chasing me. Oh my God! It was huge! Sam!" I grasped his shoulders. "That thing was _huge_. Oh my God! Where's Frodo? We have to get out of here. Right. Now. The spider will eat us all. It'll suck us dry until we're nothing more than skeleton's hanging like Christmas wreaths from the walls of her cave. Christmas wreaths, Sam! Christmas wreaths! Do _you_ want to be a Christmas wreath?"

"We cannot leave yet," said Sam.

"Why not?" I wailed.

"We must find Mister Frodo first."

I blinked. Slowly, I looked from left to right. There was no sign of Frodo. I turned back to Sam. "Where is Frodo?"

"Gollum separated us," said Sam. "One moment, we were wandering through the dark cave together. I heard Gollum's voice, calling me in one direction. I tried to follow him—and then, when I next looked over my shoulder, Mister Frodo was gone."

"In this place?" I asked, my voice breaking.

Sam nodded mutely.

"Can we just leave him to escape on his own?" I asked. "He's a strong hobbit. We'll head for the exit…and Frodo can meet us outside."

"No!" cried Sam. "How can you think that? We must find Mister Frodo first."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "Mi—Frodo is very capable. He could be outside the cave already. He's probably out there—waiting. Fro us."

"Not if Gollum has his say," said Sam darkly. "Come along, Ana. We will find Mister Frodo and we will leave this cave alive."

"Are you sure?" I asked, my voice squeaking.

Sam led the way through the cave. The cave was larger than I initially expected, and eventually, I realized the cave was actually a series of tunnels. Cobwebs covered every inch of the walls and the skeletons were the only décor. We moved carefully through the tunnels, wary of the giant spider that could very well be following us. Sam was much less bothered by the spider and her webs than I was. He twitched a every dead body, but other than that his reaction was contained. And then there was me. I yelped and clung to Sam's back whenever my hand or foot would accidentally brush against a spider web. (An awkward thing since Sam is a little more than a foot shorter than me). I lit the way with my cell phone, a device that Sam was fascinated by the begin with, but when I showed how it worked, he grew suspicious and would call it witchcraft. Man, it's just a cell phone.

"We do not have need for such things in the Shire," said Sam. "Why should your world have need of such devilish devices?"

"My world is very different from the Shire," I said. "My world is very different from Middle Earth. We have skyscrapers and cars and trucks and buses and trains. I bet you've never even heard of any of those. Cell phones are a common thing in my world. Almost everyone has one. And we have computers and laptops. Way more advanced than this little cell phone."

Sam glared at the little light in my hand. "Your world delves deep into the dark arts."

"It's called science."

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but a piercing scream shot through the tunnels of the cave and cut across Sam's response.

"What was that?" I asked.

"Mister Frodo!" cried Sam.

"We don't know that," I said. "It could be Gollum. We don't like Gollum. We probably shouldn't do anything rash and risk both our lives…"

Sam sprinted down the tunnel in the direction the scream had come from. I groaned.

"I'm not following!" I shouted. "I'll be right here. Safe and sound from danger."

A couple seconds passed. I glanced sidelong. There was a skeleton attached to the wall. His jaw was dislodged and crooked. There were maggots in his empty eye sockets, chewing and chewing.

"Wait for me!" I sprinted down the tunnel after Sam.

* * *

**A/N: I love you - so please review?**


	39. The Double Whammy

**XXXIX: The Double Whammy**

I hate spiders. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them.

I am not like Sam. I cannot overcome my fears to be noble and save my friends. That's a funny thought. My fears are paralyzing. I will stand there, trembling and screaming and refusing to move an inch while spiders swarm over my friends or someone pushes them off a cliff. I'm sorry. They'll have to solve their own problems. That's the way I am. Deal with it.

So, when Sam and I sprinted from the cobweb-coated tunnels into the open mountainside pass and saw the giant spider crouching over the body of Frodo, I wasn't the most helpful person to have around.

"Oh my God! The spider killed Frodo! We can't save him now! Sam! Let's run away!" I turned tailed and prepared to sprint back into the gaping black mouth of the tunnels.

Sam stood his ground. He glared at the bulbous spider. Those pincers were clacking together, making a sharp noise like two knives rubbing again each other. The pale figure of Frodo, half-wrapped in silver thread lay at the spider's feet. Her massive legs dancers around him as she slowly approached Sam. The distance between them was not large. The mountain path was flat and rocky, about wide enough for three spiders to walk side by side. Surrounding the mountain path, rising up towards the sky, were jagged, rough rocks, pointing towards the sky like a deadly fence keeping us caged in the spider's arena.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I said, backing away from the spider as far as the rocks would allow me. I leaned against the rock wall next to the entrance of tunnel. I could not flee any further and I stood there, open-mouthed, gawking at the stare-off between Sam and the massive spider.

The spider advanced slowly, relishing the drawn out silence.

Sam darted forward and scooped something up off the ground. I squinted, trying to see what it was. Sam stood upright and lifted the blade into the air. Sting. In his other hand, Sam held a crystal-blue light. It seemed like moonlight in his hand. The light of Elendil, if I remember correctly. Sam glared at the spider and waved the light about. The spider screeched and recoiled in horror. Sam shouted and chased the spider back. (It's nice to know one of us had a functioning brain.)

The spider plucked up its courage and lunged at Sam despite the glowing light. Sam threw himself out of the spider's way at the last second. The spider reared backwards and lunged again. Sam waved Sting about wildly.

"Kill it!" I screamed. "Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

"Help!" cried Sam. He rolled away from the pulsing needling protruding from the spider's behind.

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!"

"Do not just stand there!" Sam leapt to his feet and sprinted to the other side of the passage. "Help!"

"No way! That would require touching it!"

The spider leapt at him again. This time Sam was ready. He swung his sword and managed to slice open some of the spider's thousand eyes. The spider let out a high-pitched scream and reeled backwards, cringing in agony.

"Whoo!" I cried. "You got it Sam! Keep it up! Kill that thing!"

Sam clutched his sword and gasped for breath. "Mister Frodo!" He tried to rush forward to the silver-coated body of Frodo. However, the spider slipped between Sam and Frodo, her pincers clacking together. Sam reeled backwards and lifted the blade into the air.

"Come at me," roared Sam.

"You go, Sam!" I cried. "Keep that spider occupied! Kill it too! Stab it's eyes out! Make it bleed! The more pain the better! Kill it! Kill it! Ki—"

Sharp fingernails embedded themselves in my shoulders. A shrill squeal echoed through the passage as something heavy and bony landed on my back. I shrieked and fell to the ground, rolling about and thrashing as Gollum tried to strange me.

"We gots her, Precious. We gots her!" cried Gollum.

"Get off!"

"Ana!"

"We will bites it and eats it and it will be a juicy morsel, yes, Precious? Yes!"

I tried to hit Gollum, swinging my left arm madly behind me. My right arm grasped his hands that were at my throat. I tried to pull him off, but his muscular hands kept a firm grip. I choked and gagged, gasping for some sort of breath.

There was a dull thud and Gollum released me.

I sprung away from him, gasping and rubbing my throat. I spun around and saw that Sam was standing over Gollum, sword in hand, while Gollum lay curled up on the ground, clutching the back of his head and shrieking in pain.

"It hurts us! It hurts us!" cried Gollum. "The fat one hurts us!"

"And there is a lot more where that came from, you stinking, loathsome, treacherous creature!" cried Sam.

"Precious, Precious, Precious," moan Gollum. "We needs the Precious."

Sam moved between Gollum and the body of Frodo. "Be gone, you foul thing."

"Fat one cannot understand. Fat one knows not." Gollum rolled over onto his stomach and lifted himself into a crawling position. He never took his eyes from Sam's face.

"Well," I said, backing away. "I can see you two have some serious personal issues to work out. I'll just be going—now."

Sam glanced at me, and then did a double take. His eyes widened. "Ana!"

"Huh?" I glanced over my shoulder. "Oh frig!"

The spider stood behind me, its pincers clamped together only a yard away from my head. Its thousand eyes, mixed with blood and thick hairs, watched me carefully. The two of us stood face to face for a second. Spider to girl. Predator to prey. Hunger to meal. We stared at one another in mute intensity.

I screamed and fled.

I sprinted across the passage as far as the jagged rocks would allow me. Then, I made a right turn and sprinted to the other side. The spider followed, hot on my heels, its eight legs wriggling madly as it raced after me. I leapt over Gollum and kept running. Both he and Sam dove out of the way as the spider mowed past them.

"Don't eat me!" I wailed. "I don't taste good! Eat Sam! Eat Gollum! Eat Frodo! They taste good! They taste good! I taste really bitter and gross! Ah! Not me!"

'"Light!" cried Sam. "Use your witchcraft!"

Gollum hurled himself at Sam. Sam threw up his hands, just in time to protect himself from Gollum's sharp fingernails and teeth. The two of them went crashing to the ground.

"I'm not a witch!" I cried. "It's called technology!"

I rummaged around in my pocket until my hand grasped the flat screen of the cell phone. I pulled the device from my pocket and switched it on. The spider leapt at me. I screamed and lifted the glowing phone high into the air.

The spider squealed and skirted away from me. It bent its head and glared at me reproachfully, trying to protect its already injured eyes.

"Ah-ha!" I cried, waving the phone about madly. "Face the power of technology!"

And—would you believe it—my phone died.

I kid you not. It might have been thirty seconds after I said that and my phone decided to go a friggin' die!

Well, so much for the power of 21st century technology.

The spider let out a shriek of delight and charged forward. I screamed and returned to my standard flee for my life. I sprinted past Sam and Gollum just as Sam managed to hurled Gollum over his head and down into a dark pit. Gollum shrieked as he fell, tumbling down and down. Sam gasped for breath. The spider came to a halt. She stopped chasing me and, instead, turned her attention to Sam.

"Yes!" I cried. "Eat him! Eat him!"

Sam leapt to his feet. "Ana!"

"What?" I asked. "I'm just saying—you probably taste better than I do."

Sam grasped Sting and glowered at the spider. She jumped forward, pincer clacking. Sam sprinted beneath her. She lifted her body and brought it crashing down on top of him. Sam lifted Sting into the air. The spider embedded herself on the blade.

A shrill scream omitted from the spider. She wrenched herself away from the blade and skirted away from Sam. Her legs flew in all directions and she tried desperately to escape. She dragged herself back into the black tunnels from whence she came leaving Sam and me one the mountain passageway.

"She is gone," said Sam.

"I hope so." I shuddered. "You don't think she's coming back—do you?"

"There was a lot of blood," said Sam, doubtfully. He spun around and caught sight of the silver-wrapped body. "Mister Frodo!"

He sprinted across the open area and knelt over Frodo's body. I joined him, staring tentatively down at the pale-faced, unmoving Frodo.

"He cannot be dead," said Sam. "Mister Frodo! Mister Frodo!" He shook Frodo's shoulder, but the body did not stir.

"He's not dead," I said. "Frodo? Die? He's like a friggin' zombie. Remember that time that he was stabbed in the chest by the troll and we all thought he was dead and we were all panicking, but then Frodo was like—hey guys, I'm not dead. I have a magic shirt of chainmail that I got from Bilbo who got from Thorin. See, Thorin is majestically saving Middle Earth and Frodo's life and he doesn't even know it."

"Mister Frodo!" cried Sam, clutching Frodo's body to his chest. (Sam was completely ignoring me at this point).

"He's not dead," I said. "He's not dead. Look. He's going to open his eyes at any moment and be like—I'm just trolling you. See. Look!"

Frodo didn't move an inch.

"He's a really good troll," I said.

Sam's sobs echoed though the passageway. The jagged rocks loomed over us. One rock was formed in such a way that it looked like a grinning face—two dark homes and a deep, jagged indent in the rock. It was laughing at us, enjoying our misfortune.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

The rock did not respond.

"He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead," I said flatly. But even I did not believe my words anymore. "He's not dead."

Sam's sobs came to an abrupt halt. He made a sound that came out like a mix between a grunt and a sniffle. His eyes widened and he stared in mute horror at the discarded sword. It was glowing bright blue, vivid against the dark shadows of Mordor.

"What does that mean" I asked.

"Orcs," said Sam. "Orcs are coming."

"What do we do?" I asked, looking about wildly.

"Hide!"

I glanced over my shoulder at the gaping mouth of the tunnels. "Nu-uh. That spider went back in there. I'm not going anywhere near that spider again. Nope. I'd rather be captured by orcs."

"Ana!"

Sam scooped up the light, which had lost most of its glow since he had dropped it, and sheathed Sting. He started towards the tunnel entrance and then did a double take. He stared miserably at Frodo's dead body for a second. He darted forward, grabbed Frodo around the shoulders, and tried to drag the body towards the tunnel.

"They're coming!" I cried, glancing down the path. I couldn't see the orcs, but I could hear their gruff voices.

"Help me!" cried Sam.

"No way," I said, crossing my arms. "I am not touching that spider web and I'm not going back in that tunnel."

The orcs, speaking in the tongues of Mordor, drew closer.

"Do you not have a heart!?" cried Sam.

I groaned. I darted forward and carefully lifted Frodo's legs. The spider web was sticky. It clung to my arms and clothes, refusing to let go. "Ew. Sam. Ew. This isn't working."

"Faster! Hurry!"

We inched towards the tunnel, carrying Frodo between us.

"Sam," I said. "This isn't going to work. We have to leave him."

Sam stared at Frodo's pale face. He glanced at the orcs. Carefully, delicately, Sam lowered Frodo to the ground. He fumbled at Frodo's shirt collar, pushing the threads away. Out from under Frodo's undershirt, Sam pulled a silver chain. At first, I did not know what he was going-was he robbing his dead friend!? Then, I saw the glint of gold on the end of the chain. The Ring.

"Good thinking," I said.

Sam apologized under his breath to Frodo and then sprinted towards the tunnel entrance.

"Oh no," I said. "No. No. No. I'll take my chances with the orcs, thank you very much. They only have two legs."

"Ana!" cried Sam. "Hurry!"

I groaned and slid into the darkness to the tunnel after him. It was still dank and damp and smelled vaguely of rotting meat. We went just far enough into the tunnel that we were concealed from sight as the orcs arrived at the edge of the pathway. I kept glancing over my shoulder nervously, wondering when the spider would come back for a second try. Sam was not concerned at all. I wish I could say I had his confidence, but it was hard to be unconcerned when a deformed orc skull kept staring at me.

"What are they saying?" asked Sam. "I cannot hear them."

"Hello, Mister," I said to the orc skull. "Can you hear them?"

The orc skull didn't reply.

"They are saying something about the spider," said Sam. "Her name is Shelob."

"They named the spider!?" I cried. "That's gross. That makes it sound like a cute little pet. No. No. No. No. You don't name spiders."

Sam wasn't listening to me. He peered at the orcs who were inspecting Frodo's dead body. Sam's brow was furrowed and his expression was one of the upmost concentration.

Frodo looked so white and little as he lay at the feet of the orcs. Their dark, purplish skin only made his seem paler. I had never actually seen a dead body before. Well, that's a lie. I had seen dead bodies before, but I had never had a chance to actually look at one. The dead bodies were usually in the middle of a fight. There's something so different about staring at a dead body. People seem smaller when they're dead. I mean, I know Frodo is a hobbit. He's naturally small. But he seemed smaller. Almost like a baby. His blue eyes were wide open, as if he might blink and get up at any moment. He didn't seem dead, just a little sickly. And yet…he was so still. I don't think I could be that still even if I tried. Like when we played the game Red Light Green Light at school. I was boss at that game. I could freeze like a statue. But even when I was frozen, I was not that still.

Death scares me.

I turned to the orc skull. "So how are you today? Good mood? Bad mood? Tired? You look deathly pale. Are you sick?"

His empty sockets glared at me.

"Sorry," I said. "That was rude."

"Shush." Sam glanced back at me. "They'll hear you."

"What are they saying?" I asked.

"That Shelob has a poisoned needle."

I nodded. "That's what got Frodo."

Frodo. Could I save him? Could I change time? Or would he end up like Boromir? I've done it before. Or would I try to save him and then he would have to die anyway? Was there any point? Why was I so useless? Why couldn't I do anything? I couldn't fight. I couldn't help anyone. I couldn't even use the Sword Breaker properly. Was there any point to me even being here?

"He is not dead."

I stopped mid-pity party and stared at the back of Sam's head. "What?"

"Shelob's poison," said Sam softly. "It puts its victims to sleep. She only wants them alive."

"How do you know?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder and staring out at the clearing. "You're kidding. You're kidding." I let out a soft, wild laugh. "You're kidding!"

"I do not kid. The orcs spoke of it."

Sam suddenly tensed. One of the orcs lifted Frodo's unconscious body from the ground and slung it over his shoulder like a flimsy sack of potatoes.

"We will take him back to the tower," growled another orc. "He will wake in a couple of hours."

The orcs cackled. "And when he does, he will wish he had never been born."

I swallowed. "Oh frig."

"Stupid Samwise," muttered Sam under his breath.

I turned to the orc skull. "You _knew_ this was going to happen."

The orc skull stared at me. It seemed as though his half-formed jaw was smirking at me.

"And I thought we had a bond!"

"Ana," said Sam, gawking at me. "Are you talking to a skeleton?"

I pointed violently at the orc skull. "He started it."

In protest, the skeleton lost its place in the spider web and tumbled forward. Right. On. Top. Of. Me.

I threw my hands up to protect me from the falling skeleton. His dry bones made contact with my hand and one of my fingers forced its way through his rough nose holes. His rib cage banged against mine. We went crashing to the ground and—Skip—we landed on the forest floor. A tree root buried itself in my back and I cringed in pain. The orc skull's face was inches from mine. It leered at me, eternally laughing. I screamed and batted its head away. The head came free from the body and skirted across the forest floor. His bony fingers still clung to me. I shrieked and thrashed about, trying to separate us.

"You traitor!" I cried. "I thought we were friends! Traitor!"

I leapt to my feet and the orc skeleton fell to the ground, its crusty ligaments tearing apart on contact. I stood there, panting for breath, at the base of the tree.

"And this is why I don't befriend orcs," I said, kicking the bones with my foot.

I was standing amongst unfamiliar trees in a familiar forest. The bark was thick and layered, like dry, burst skin. The knots in the trees roots gnawed into the ground, digging deep into the soil. Twisted sticks, dead leaves, purple mushrooms, green-black fungi, gray moss, and jagged rocks covered the forest floor. The woods had a heavy air, and they held an eerie silence that did not belong to the wild.

"Mirkwood," I said. "I'm back."

The trees did not stir.

"Yeah, I missed you too."

I stepped backwards, careful not to trip on any roots. The trees here were tricky. They only pretended to sleep. But always, always they were watching. They were mean spirited trees. I don't know how the elves can stand them The trees wait and watch, and when they think you're not paying attention, they devour you. Man, I don't like Mirkwood. At least, there aren't any giant spiders here. I shuddered. No giant spiders. No tree climbing. No skeletons. (I think I'm developing skelephobia.) No orcs. No balrogs. No dragons. No potential boyfriends. No parents. No best friends who say insensitive things about you predicament. The only thing here I have to worry about are the elves. And I can handle eves. I think.

I took a deep breath. Someone has to be around here somewhere. Maybe the Company. I don't usually end up in random places for no reason.

I turned around.

And I found the Company.

They were hanging out in the trees. Literally.

Silver threads were wrapped around their bodies, mummifying them. Only their faces were exposed. (I choose to believe that the reason the spiders did not cover their faces is because the spiders are truly evil and vile creature who wanted the dwarves so see their doom approaching in the thousand icky eyes in the spiders' heads.) The dwarves' eyes drooped drowsily. They were sluggish from the poison injected in them. They dangled from the thick tree branches, staring down at me in mute horror. None of them spoke. (I don't think they were capable of speaking). They were all there: Gloin, Bofur, Bombur, Kili, Balin, Oin, Ori, Fili, Dori, Thorin, Nori, Bifur, and Dwalin. All except Bilbo.

I didn't have time to look for Bilbo. The predators revealed themselves. Spiders. Dozens of them. Giant spiders. Not as big as Shelob, but damn they were huge. And black. And hairy. With eight legs. And a hundred eyes each. And pincers, clack, lack, lacking away. They watched me. Never taking a single eyes away from me. With silver threads they lowered themselves from the tree, preparing to add another meal to the pile. Spiders.

"Ana…" Thorin managed to speak. He voice came out as little more than a croak. "Help…"

The spiders were drawing closer.

"Friggin' no way!"

I turned around and fled.

Sorry, Thorin. I love you. But you're not worth spiders.

* * *

**A/N: All reviews are appreciated!**


	40. The Effects Of Spider Poison

**XL: The Effects Of Spider Poison**

"Ana!" roared Thorin. (He was regaining some strength in his voice as the power of the spiders' poison diminished.) "Ana! Do not run away from me!"

"Sorry, Thorin!" I cried, leaping over a series of intertwined roots. "But spiders scare me more than your majesty!"

"My majesty will never forgive you!"

I sprinted through the forest as fast as my legs could carry me. I didn't get very far. Fat spiders scampered down the tree trunks in front of me. Poison dripped from their stingers. I screamed and turned to my right. More spiders. I look behind me. More spiders. Left. Spiders. Right. Spiders. In front. Spiders. Behind Spiders. Above. Spiders. Spiders. Spiders.

I screamed.

"Ana," said Bofur, his voice slow and deep. "Run…"

"They're gross!" I cried. "Get them off me! Get them off me! Oh my God! Look at those legs! So many legs! Ah! No! No! No! Get that pointy thing away from me! I can't believe I just said that. No!" I jumped away from the spider. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no—Thorin! Use your majesty to scare them away!"

"Clearly, that did not work the first time," said Thorin, struggling against the threads that bound him.

The spiders were surrounding me. I drew my arms up to my chest, trying to make myself as small as possible. The spiders crept closer.

"You're invading my personal space!" I said. "I need room. Space. Give me space. I can't breathe. Ew. Go away. Go away. Look at the dwarves. Look at the juicy, scrumptious dwarves. Go invade their personal space. Ew. Please?"

"Do not send them over here," muttered Kili.

"Are you surprised?" asked Fili. He shifted in his spider web cage. "When ever a dangerous creature comes, Ana tells it to devour us instead."

"You lack loyalty," said Thorin.

"Help me!" I wailed. "I don't like spiders!"

"And they do not like you," said Gloin. "Except as dinner. And when you are served with ale." (Say what?)

"Think of it as a valuable lesson," said Balin. "When you do not help others in need, they will not help you in need."

"That is cruel," said Bofur. His eyes fluttered and he had to shake himself awake. "I think she is honestly scared of the spiders."

"Why is that tree upside down?" asked Kili dreamily. (I think the poison is affecting them.)

"She is trembling," said Bombur.

"They're spiders!"

One of the spider's pincers snapped at my heels. I screamed and jumped backwards. I tripped over another spider. I went crashing to the ground.

"Ana!"

"Ana!"

"Ana!"

My name rose like a chorus from the dwarves. My screaming was like the music to the strange symphony. If you add my thoughts into the mix, then you have this whole new music genre: "Ana!" Ew. Ew. Ew. "Aaaaaaahhhahhhhaaaaaah!" Legs! "Ana!" "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" Pincers and legs! "Ana!" "Ana!" "Ana!" Legs and pincers! "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaaaaahhhhh hh!" Don't let me die! Don't let me die! "Ana!" "Someone save her!" "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!" "I cannot move!" I don't wanna die! "Aaaaaaaaaah!" Not like this! "Aaaaaaaaaaah!" Not death by spiders! "Aaaaaaaaaaah!" "Ana!"

I think the song is the next big hit—don't you?

Okay, okay, the joke wasn't funny. I'll just, um, move on. You'll be pleased to know that the spiders didn't kill me. Which, I guess is pretty obvious. Since I'm talking to you now. Unless I died and came back as a ghost. That would make this story ten times more awesome. Or stupid. (I can read your mind. I know what you're thinking.) I'll just cut to the point. I didn't die because I was saved by an invisible hobbit. (They're the best kind of hobbit.)

I was lying on my back, thrashing about wildly, trying to avoid the spiders' pincers and stingers. One of them rips over my thigh and another managed to get some of his poison into my arm.

One of the spiders back split open, spraying purple blood in all directions. The spider let out a shrill squeal. He collapsed to the ground beside me—dead.

The other spiders started a single inhuman scream. They reeled away from their dead companion. They looked about in confusion, trying to figure out where the attack came from.

"Ana! Are you injured?"

"Bilbo?" I looked around in confusion. I couldn't see the hobbit anywhere.

"I am hidden," he said. "How are you?"

I managed to get to my feet. A sharp pain sprung through my right thigh. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Who are you speaking to?" asked Balin, looking about.

"My imaginary friend," I said. "His name is Bilbo."

"Ana," said Kili. "You named your imaginary friend after Bilbo. That is so sweet of you." (Kili did not take spider poison well. It was really getting to him.)

"Bilbo?" asked Dori. "Where is he? I cannot see him."

"He's hiding," I said.

"The spiders are returning," said Bilbo.

They were. They had been unable to locate the attacker and had now turned their attention back to me (the visible one). They approached slowly, cautiously. They were constantly aware that their attacker might still be out there. However, they could not resist the juicy morsel that was me. Their hunger won out over their fear and they now drew closer to me.

"Bilbo…" I said, edging away from the spiders. "Save me…"

"Save _us_," said Nori.

Thorin nodded. "Ana is currently learning a lesson about helping others."

"Virtues are a good thing," said Balin, nodding.

"They're spiders!" I wailed. "Don't abandon me to the spiders!"

A spider to my right was decapitated. The other spiders shrieked and howled, terrified by the unknown enemy. Another spider—this time to my left—lost a leg. It moaned and collapsed to the forest floor, bleeding everywhere. Bilbo brought his sword crashing down into the spider's back.

"This is Sting," said Bilbo. "You stung my friends, but now I will sting you."

"That is the most cliché thing I have ever heard!" I cried.

"I found a name for my sword," said Bilbo. "Let me use it."

"That's great!" I sprinted away from a spider that tried to sink its pincers into my other leg. I stumbled and almost fell to the ground. I caught myself on a tree and stood there, gasping. "But you need a better catch phrase than that."

"Catch phrase?" asked Bilbo.

"Yeah. Like—I am the wasp that is about to sting you. Except better. Because that was really bad."

"Why is Bilbo a wasp?" asked Bombur. "Can Bilbo be a cream puff instead?" (Spider poison is some strong stuff.)

Bilbo stabbed another spider. The others began to retreat. Their numerous legs scampering about as they waddled back to the tree and disappeared.

"I think my first catch phrase was best," said Biblo.

"Do you have a catch phrase?" asked Nori.

"Me?" I pointed to myself.

Nori nodded slowly. His eyes seemed to fade out of focus for a second, but he returned to reality moments later.

"I don't have one," I said. "I'm too awesome for a catch phrase."

"Bilbo has just saved your life," said Dwalin. "I think that would make him more, um, awesome than you."

"Her catch phrase is—I am just passing through," said Thorin.

"It is true," said Oin. "She says that…"

"Often," said Gloin. "She says that often."

"Of course…"

"Are you…okay?" I asked. The world went black for a second. I blinked. "Did a pink elephant just run through here?" (Oh my God, the spider poison was affecting me too!)

"I saw the pink elephant," said Ori.

"What is an elephant?" asked Dwalin.

"I do not know," said Ori.

"Then how have you seen one?"

"I do not know."

Thorin sighed. "Bilbo. Cut us down from here. Before the poison does any more to addle their wits."

Bilbo slipped off his ring and slid it into his pocket before any of the drowsy dwarves could see. He used Sting to cut the threads away from the dwarves. One by one, the dwarves were free from the spider webs that bound them. Little bits and pieces of thread still clung to their clothing, but other than that, they were free. Of course, there was also the fact that they (we) were drugged.

Ori fell on the ground almost the moment he was free. Nori managed two steps before his legs gave out beneath him. Bofur didn't even try to move. Dwalin clung to a tree branch, trying desperately to remain upright. Balin sat down on a tree root and refused to move an inch until his headache had disappeared. Fili and Kili were leaning on one another, each using his brother as a sort of crutch. Oin and Gloin kept trying to remember one another's names and coming up with nothing. Dori kept squinting at something in the distance (it might have been a giant cat, but I wasn't sure). Bombur wobbled about the clearing for a minute, before he fell on his behind and sat there mutely. Bifur muttered something in the dwarvish language and banged his head against the trunk of a tree. That seemed to do the job, because Bifur stood upright and seemed to have regained control of his brain function.

Only Thorin seemed completely immune to the poison (though I think he stood upright through sheer will power alone—he had to make up for asking for help somehow—the whole incident only embarrassed him.)

"Kili," I said, waving my hands in front of my eyes. "You have a beard."

"I do?" asked Kili excitedly. He touched his chin. "A beard?"

"A wait…" I said. "It's just the poison talking."

Kili's face fell.

"He was almost majestic for a second there," said Fili. "You stole it from him."

"I'm a ninja thief," I said.

"Burgling is Bilbo's job," said Balin.

"He is doing a wonderfully," said Bofur. "I do not think Ana should steal his job."

"I don't want…" I stood stock still, swaying from side to side. I swear there was a black, demonic monkey crawling about in the tree tops. Its red eyes followed my eyes move. It was plotting something. I just didn't know what.

"Ana."

"Huh?" I turned to Gloin (I thought it was Gloin. It might have been Ori.)

"You do not want what?" asked Gloin/Ori/Dwalin. "You did not finish what you were going to say."

"Oh." I blinked and opened my eyes wide, trying to make the fuzziness go away. "What was I saying?"

"I do not recall," said Gloin/Ori/Dwalin/Bofur.

"The spiders are returning!" cried Bilbo.

I spun around. The spiders were returning. They had spotted Bilbo and had come to realize that their attacker was nothing more than a hobbit. They came after us again, crawling down from the trees, determined not to let their dinner go free. Of course, to me, they didn't look like spiders. They were more like these black blobs that were slowly creeping closer to me. The blobs kept expanding and expanding until almost my entire vision was blotted out.

"Whoa…"

"Run!" roared Thorin.

"Where?" I asked.

I could hear the sound of footsteps around me. The dwarves were certainly running. I couldn't see anything. It was dark. Insanely dark. Where were they going? Left? Right? Forward? Behind? Everything was black. My body felt heavy. So heavy. My arms were lead. My legs were lead. My head was pounding. My arm was burning. Like it was on fire. Black. Heavy. Pain. Fire. Heavy. Pain. Fire. Black. Pain. Black. Heavy. Heavy. Pain. Fire. Black. Fire. Pain. Heavy. Black. Heavy. Fire. Pain. Pain. Pain. Nothing.

"Ana!"

Someone grabbed me by the arm and started dragging me through the forest. My feet stumbled clumsily over the tree roots (I think it was tree roots). Two strong arms lifted me before I could face plant on the ground and slung me over a hard back, covered in thick chain mail. I clung on to what I could and closed my eyes. I moved to the rhythm of running.

Have you ever been poisoned by giant spiders before? No? Well, trust me, it is no picnic in the park. The world goes dark. Your body becomes immobile. The world starts spinning. You'll start thinking thing you'll never realized you could think. You have no control over your thoughts. No command. What comes and goes. It's not yours.

Trees. Trees. Elves. Stupid elves. They argue with dwarves. Dwarves are short. They laugh and drink. I wanted to join them. I couldn't join them. I was standing outside the window of the hobbit hole. Thorin was standing next to me. He said my name. I never told him my name. The door opened. I was standing in fields of dead people. I was watching Minas Tirith burn. Orcs pillaged it. Man was dead. No one was left. No elves. No hobbits. No dwarves. Just orcs. Lots and lots of orcs. There was a funeral under the mountain. Whose coffin? I didn't know. Durin knew. Durin lay in the coffin. But who was Durin? I didn't know. Maybe Thorin knew. Where was Thorin? Where was Boromir That's right, he died. You let him die. You don't remember that? Ana. You let him die. You had a chance to save him. You brought him back to die. You brought him back to die. You would have left Frodo to die. You wouldn't have even tried to save him. You would have let him die. Would you have done the same for Sam? For Merry? For Pippin? For Aragorn? For Gimli? For Gloin? For Oin? For Ori? For Nori? For Dori? For Dwalin For Balin? For Bifur? For Bofur? For Bombur? For Bilbo? For Kili? For Fili? For Thorin?

It doesn't end. You have to understand that. The spiders' poison is not made for happy dreams. You are meant to suffer. You are meant to writhe in agony, to scream, to hate, to despise. The spiders are ugly creatures. They want you to suffer before they devour you.

I was sitting in a living room. My parents faced me. My mother was crying. My father was angry. Nick took their place. He smiled. He kissed Karen in the forehead. Karen turned into Joanna. Joanna flipped me off. Bonnie was staring at me. She wants to know why I was mad. Why was I mad? I don't remember. I do remember. I always remember. Think of monkeys. You're a failure of a human being. Bonnie is annoyed. You cannot take anything seriously. Yes, I can. Prove it. Why are you mad? I'm not mad. I'm not. You were just. You were just. You were just. You were just not understanding. You never understand. You think Skipping to Middle Earth is a game? You think Skipping to Middle Earth is fun? That's because you partied with elves the whole time. You did not watch Boromir die. You did not flee the balrog. You did not watch Merry die. Again and again. You did not watch Gandalf fall. You did not find out you're doomed to go insane. You did not have to watch your life disappear before your very eyes. These aren't your problems. You had a vacation. Your vacation is my life. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. It's not fun. It is hell.

I was crying. Bonnie was gone. I was sitting in a prison cell. I was alone. Not anymore. Jack was sitting opposite me. I was in shackles. He was free. There were bars between us. Iron bars. He said my name. I couldn't understand him. He threw popcorn at me. He was mad. I am crazy. He knows it. I dumped him. No, he's cute. I would never dump a cute guy. I am a bitch. He called me a bitch. You don't understand. No one understands. You can explain it all you want, no one really understands. They play along. They pretend to understand. They even try to understand. But no one gets it.

I was awake.

"Has the poison faded?"

Bofur stared at me, wide-eyed, his face inches from mine. He was frantic. "How are you feeling? Is your forehead hot? Do you need something to drink? Sometimes water helps But I do not have any water. Does anyone have any water? It would be much appreciated."

"I am fine," I said.

I was sitting in between two tree roots that connected on a curse that provided a perfectly comfortable seat for me. The Company had settled down in a space between four thick trees after escaping the spiders. They had set up camp for the time being, waiting for me to regain consciousness. From what I could gather, Dwalin had carried me through the forest, but he could not travel far since the poison had affected him as well. Dwalin had collapsed in the small clearing and the other dwarves stopped around him. They tried to pull him to his feet, but neither Dwalin nor I were moving. However, the dwarves came to realize that the spiders dared no enter the clearing. As it turned out, the dwarves had stumbled across some elves partying in the clearing earlier that night.

"Whew," I said, inspecting the wound on my thigh that had rapidly healed in the clearing. "That spider poison is quite the stuff. We could probably sell that stuff on a street corner and make tons of money from the drug addicts."

"I do not know what she says," said Ori.

"I think she wishes to sell spider poison for profit," said Balin.

"Who would want to buy such a thing?"

"You'd be surprised what idiots exist in my world," I said. "They even surprise me. I fear for the survival of humanity sometimes."

"I need only look at you and I fear for the survival of humanity," said Thorin.

"Aw, you're too kind," I said. My eyes fluttered and I shook my head. The effects of the poison had not entirely disappeared.

"She is fine," said Gloin, pulling Bofur away from me. "Just let them argue. It will be over eventually."

"I am just pointing out a fact," said Thorin. "You should not refer to your fellow idiots as idiots."

"You call me an idiot all the time."

"But I am not an idiot, so I am allowed to call you, a true idiot, an idiot."

"It's like the pot calling the kettle black."

"I do not understand this expression."

"The pot is black so it is a hypocrite to call the kettle black."

Thorin frowned. "Pots are brown."

"They're black."

"No. They are brown."

"What kind of pot are you thinking of? I am talking about the pots that you put on the stove over the fire."

"The pot that holds plants is brown."

"We're not talking about that kind of pot. We're talking about the kind of pot that you put soup in."

"That is gray."

"It's black!"

"It is gray."

"What—you're just trying to be difficult! I refuse to argue with you!"

"I—" Thorin stopped. He face seemed to freeze in place. Then, slowly, his expression hardened to a scowl. He leaned forward, his fingers brushing against the handle of his blade.

"What's going on?" I looked around. A feel of dread filled my stomach, settling in my bowels like ice.

They were gone. The other dwarves. One moment we had all been in the clearing together. The dwarves had been trying to sort out what supplies we still had. Thorin and I had been arguing. But now, the dwarves were no where to be seen. Had they left the clearing I hadn't seem them leave. They just sort of…disappeared. Thorin and I were completely alone in the forest.

The trees suddenly seemed much taller. Their branches extended towards me, as if they were trying to catch hold of me and keep me prisoner in their fingers for all eternity. The shadows of the forest seemed to have grow, stretching across the ground like think demons on the prowl. A heavy mist settled in the forest, slithering through the trees and filling all the cracks and crevices.

"Where are they?" I asked.

"Fili! Kili!" shouted Thorin.

There was no response.

I got to my feet. My legs were shaking beneath me. "They're gone."

"Balin! Dwalin! Bilbo!"

I could only hear the sound of my own soft breathing and Thorin's angry pants.

"Where did they go?" I asked. "Did the forest take them?"

Thorin looked sidelong at me. His blue eyes widened in horror.

"What?" I asked. "Do I look funny?"

"Elves."

I spun around and found myself face to face with an arrowhead. I swallowed. I had faced death in excessive amounts today. It'd be nice to have a break every once in awhile.

A tall blond elf dressed in silver robes came forward. He sat on the back of an elf, his proud face visible in between the elk's massive antlers. On the elf's head, a backwards crown was perched, made of silver with intricate designed like tree branches.

"Thranduil," I said. "I don't like weapons being pointed in my face."

"Yes," said Thranduil. "And I do not like have a stick shoved into my rear end. We both have our issues, Ana."

"Oh." I swallowed again. "You remember me."

Thranduil nodded curtly. "Oh yes, Ana. I remember you."

* * *

**A/N: I'm done for tonight. I'm going to bed. And sleeping. I might update tomorrow. It really depends. **

**Please review all chapters. (I would really appreciate it and I would love you forever and I would most definitely update tomorrow.) **

**Please...?**


	41. Do Not Let The Ship Sink

**XLI: Do Not Let The Ship Sink**

I don't trust angry elves with weapons. I mean, anything could happen. Bu "anything", I mean that they could kill me. I don't like the idea of being killed. It doesn't sound like much fun. And, well, you know, elves and I have issues. So there we were: Thorin and I, in Mirkwood, surrounded by angry elves with weapons. Heh. We were so screwed.

"So," I said, tugging at the sleeve of my jacket. "Long time no see, Thranduil. What's up?"

One of the elves frowned. "Your words make no sense. Are you asking what is up? Can you not look up yourself?"

"Elves," I muttered in disgust. "I'm asking how your life is going at the moment. Good? Bad?"

"Bad," said Thranduil. "I happen to have met you and that dwarf today."

I gasped. "Did you just refer to Thorin as 'that dwarf'—he is the most majestic thing to walk this earth—and you, on your moose, call him 'that dwarf'."

We stood between several crooked trees, their gnarly branches swooping overhead. There were about a dozen elves around us. Thranduil stood in the front of the group. He did not hold a weapon, unlike the other elves. There were others in the group that I recognized. Some of the elves, I only recognized their faces, but others—like Tauriel, Tamuril, Lastiel, and Valier—I knew very well. The elves were all glowering at us, their eyes filled with intense dislike. Apparently a few of them remembered me.

There was one elf, however, who was not angry. A broad grin covered his incredibly good-looking and flawless face.

"Ana!" Riwen pushed his way through the group to get a good look at me. A huge grin crossed his face and he laughed excitedly. "I thought I would never see you again! You vanished into nothing!"

"She does that," said Thorin gruffly. He turned to me, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Who is this?"

"This is my estranged step-brother, Riwen," I said. "I met him during my Skipping. I found Bonnie by the way! She was staying with the tree huggers."

"I thought you did not like elves," said Thorin. "But you are related to one?"

"Not really," I said quickly. "He's like the elvish version of me! Besides." I crossed my arms and pouted my lips. "I'm allowed to like some of them. Not all elves are friggin' arrogant tree huggers. So of them are decent. Like Riwen here. And Lastiel—he was almost majestic. Except he's an elf. So that's impossible."

"I would be majestic too!" cried Riwen. "Except I was cursed at birth with elven genetics."

Thorin stared at Riwen for a long moment. Then, Thorin said, "You could be a dwarf and you would still not be majestic."

"It's because you don't have a beard," I said. "You'd be best friends with Kili though. He's a beardless wannabe majestic."

Thranduil silenced Riwen with a sharp glare. "These are our prisoners. We are not supposed to befriend our prisoners."

"That's such bull," I said. "I befriend my captors call the time. Eomer and I—he's tried to arrest me several times, but we have such a long history—besties, I'm telling you. And Denethor… Well, Denethor doesn't exactly like me, but I'm really great friends with his sons. I don't think I've ever been arrested by dwarves though…"

"Dwarves would never arrest you," said Thorin. "They would kill you on sight rather than stand you longer than necessary."

"I love you too," I said. Sticking my tongue out at Thorin.

"Who is this?" asked Riwen, eyeing Thorn suspiciously.

"This is the King of Majesty," I said. "Thorin Oakenshield."

"Do not tell them who I am so easily," said Thorin.

Riwen gasped. He gawked at Thorin, his mouth hanging somewhere around ground level. "Ana…" whispered Riwen. "Not _the _Majestic Thorin?"

"The very same," I said, nodding.

Riwen placed one hand over his chest. "My heart is beating rapidly. Ana! I don't think I can take this."

"What is he?" asked Thorin, turning to me.

"I think the correct term is fangirl," I said.

"He is even more majestic than I had imagined." Riwen covered his mouth with his hands. "Mister Oakenshield… May I hug you?"

"No."

Riwen sniffled. "Even his rejection is majestic."

"It's scary how majestic he is," I said, nodding.

Thranduil sighed. "Riwen, sometimes I am ashamed to call you my kin."

"Poor Riwen!" I cried. "Such a tragic back story! Cast out by elves for admiring a dwarf, but rejected by dwarves for being an elf!"

"That's requirement one for being majestic!" cried Riwen. "Does this mean I have majestic potential?"

"No," I said. "You have to be a dwarf to have majestic potential."

Riwen groaned. "Cursed! Cursed from birth!"

Thranduil turned to Tauriel. "Can you deal with this?"

Tauriel nodded. She flicked her long, brown hair over her shoulder and stepped forward. She drew back her right hand and brought it forward—whacking Riwen over the back of the head. "Calm down."

Riwen rubbed the back of his head, "That hurt, Tauriel."

"Good." She stepped back to join Thranduil's side.

Thranduil turned back to Thorin and me, his eyes narrowed in dislike. "Not once, not twice, but thrice you interrupted my elves' festivities."

"Not by choice," said Thorin gruffly.

"When did this happen?" I asked.

Thorin sighed. "It was before your arrival, Ana."

"Do not talk amongst yourselves," said Thranduil. "You interrupted our merrymaking."

"That is capital sin to elves," I said.

"Do not act like you are such an expert in our mannerisms," said Tamuril. He stepped forward, his hand on the handle of his sword. A twin snapped under his boot.

"Hold, Tamuril," said Thranduil. "They will answer soon." He turned his attention back to Thorin. "Why did you and your folk try to interrupt my folk in their merrymaking?"

"We did not attack them," said Thorin stiffly. "We can to ask for food because we were starving."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed. "Where are your friends now? What are they doing?"

"I do not know," said Thorin. "But I expect they are starving in the forest."

"What were you doing in the forest?" asked Thranduil.

"Looking for food and drink," said Thorin. "Because we were starving."

I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to muffle my laughter. Tamuril glared at me, fingering the handle of his blade. That didn't stop me from laughing though. I was shaking with mirth.

"What is her problem?" asked Thranduil.

"She has lost her wits from hunger," said Thorin. "No doubt the rest of my kin are wandering through the forest witless and starving."

My laughter doubled. I clutched my stomach and let out a loud guffaw until my sides felt like bursting. "Oh my God. Thorin, stop! Stop! I'm dying here."

Thranduil scowled. "They are mocking us."

"We are just hungry," said Thorin.

"Throw them in prison until they are willing to talk," cried Thranduil.

"Will you feed us in prison?" asked Thorin.

I swear, Thranduil had turned a bright shade of red. He looked like a ticking time bomb about to explode at any second. He did not yell, but in a practiced, even voice, he said, "No. You will not see an ounce of food until you tell me the truth." He turned to his fellow elves. "Throw them into the darkest dungeon we have."

The elves grabbed Thorin by the shoulders and his struggled against their grip. The other elves moved towards me, but before any one of them could even lay a hand on me, I Skipped.

Sorry Thorin. I didn't willingly leave you to face the elves alone.

I sat up in a wooden chair by the fireplace. There was a constant buzzing of conversation. I was in an inn. It was the main room with tables and chairs and a roaring brick fireplace. Hobbits and men were gathered about, chatting in low voices. Pints of ale were served to all customers, some of whom had ongoing tabs. The room was made of wood and there was a golden light that seemed to fill every crevice. There was a warmth to the inn, a welcoming vibe that felt comfortable and homey. I vaguely recognized the inn as the Prancing Pony in Bree. I had been here before when I was a teenager. I'd spent the night listening to stories of elves and dwarves by the fire until I fell asleep, basked in warmth. I had woken up the next morning in my own bed with an alarm clock going off for school.

I was sitting in a large oaken chair by the fireplace. No one had noticed my arrival since the hobbits gathered around the fireside were chatting to someone about their family origins. I peered past them and saw a familiar face—dark, curly hair and ridiculously large blue eyes. Frodo Baggins was in Bree.

"Hey," I said, pushing myself out of the chair. "How have you been?"

Frodo looked away from his fellow hobbits and caught sight of me. His eyes widened in surprise and he leapt up from his seat.

"Ana!" cried Frodo. He embraced me in greeting. "How have you been? Still dressed as peculiarly as always, I see."

I glanced down at my clothes. Black jeans and a gray t-shirt. It wasn't as bizarre as some of the outfits I had worn to Middle Earth—now those were some peculiar stuff. Swimsuits, underwear, pajamas, school uniforms, and Halloween outfits (I was dressed as a cat one year and bat woman the other).

"How have you been?" I asked, as Frodo led me away from the group of strange hobbits. "Where's the rest of the Fellowship?"

"Listen," said Frodo in an undertone as soon as we were out of earshot. "Here I am known as Mister Underhill. I am going by a difference name of safety reasons."

"Okay…" I said slowly. "Whatever you say, Mister Underhill."

Frodo smiled in relief. "Thank you, Ana."

"So what time is it?" I asked, looking around. "Is my hubby here? Or Aragorn? Or Legolas?" (I dared not ask that one name. I didn't want to get my hopes up.)

Frodo frowned. "Who?"

"What do you mean who?" I asked. "The Fellowship?"

"The Fellowship?" Frodo shook his head. "I am afraid I do not follow you."

"Mister Fro—Underhill." Sam crossed the room, squeezing his way through the crowds. He held two pints of ale, one in each hand, and he was careful not to spill a drop. He slipped between two burly men and stepped around a little wooden table. "Here you go." Sam handed Frodo one of the pints.

"Thank you, Sam," said Frodo. He took a sip of the ale and nodded. "Not the same as the Green Dragon, but good none the less."

"I've never been to the Green Dragon," I said. "Is their ale good?"

"You have had their ale," said Frodo. "You tried some at Bilbo's birthday party."

"I did?" I frowned. "No, I didn't. I didn't go to Bilbo's birthday party."

"Yes, you did," said Frodo. "That is where we met. We met at Bilbo's one-hundred-and-eleventh birthday party where you commented that the ale was good, but not as good as the drinks in Gondor."

"No," I said, drawing out the 'o'. "That never happened."

"Are you sure that you do not remember?" asked Frodo. "Have you suffered a nasty fall recently?"

"No, no, no," I said. "I may be going insane, but I'm not forgetting things. The first time you and I meet is in Rivendell at the Council of Elrond. But you haven't met Aragorn yet…" I stared at Frodo, my eyes grower wider and wider. "We haven't met before."

Frodo and Sam exchanged confused glances.

"Yes, we did," said Frodo. "We met at Bilbo's birthday party."

"No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did."

"No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did."

"No, we didn't."

"Frodo!" cried Pippin, pushing his way through the crowd. "Have you seen Merry? He is missing all the fun!" Pippin caught sight of me and a wide grin spread across his face. "Hullo! I did not see you there! I am Peregrin Took, though most simply call me Pippin."

"Yeah, I know," I said. "We haven't met yet, but we're going to be good friends."

Pippin's eyes widened. "Can you see the future? Are you a witch?"

"Close," I said. "I'm a psychic. I know that you are going to meet a strange man called Aragorn. Soon."

Pippin glanced nervously over his shoulder. "Is Aragorn a bad man?"

"He's grim," I said. "And serious. And dangerous. But bad? Well, it depends. Are you an orc?"

"No…"

"Then you're safe."

Pippin breathed a sigh of relief. "Quick! We must sit down and you must tell my future. Am I going to die any time soon?"

"I will happily tell you what I can see." I wriggled my eyebrows at Pippin. "But first, you must order me a pint of whatever it is that you have."

"Agreed!"

Pippin turned and raced back to the counter to get me a pint. We watched him disappear in the crowd of men and hobbits. Sam rolled his eyes. "What will we do with that boy?"

"Aw, he's adorable," I said.

Sam took a seat at the nearest empty table and I sat down in the chair opposite him. Frodo followed, but his attention was captured by a shadowed figure who sat in the far corner of the room, smoking a pipe. At first, I did not recognize the figure. He was dressed entirely in black. His clothes—from his long cloak to his boots—were stained with mud and dried water. He looked worn and weary, as if he had not had a good night's rest in years. I was kind of appalled by his appearance. But when I stared at him for long enough, I realized who it was. Beneath the drawn up black hood was the handsome face I had come to know so well. The same black hair and blue eyes. The same well-defined face. Definitely Aragorn.

I laughed—it looked as though my "prophecy" was going to come true sooner than I expected.

"Do you wish to talk to him?" I asked.

Frodo glanced over his shoulder at me. "Talk to who?"

"The man in the corner." I couldn't keep the wide grin off my face.

"Do you know him" asked Frodo.

"Not yet," I said. "But it might be just a little beneficial to you if you talk to him."

Frodo regarded me carefully.

"I do not trust her," said Sam. "She says things that no one ought to know. She could be lying."

"Or she could be telling the truth," said Frodo. He turned his head and caught sight of the innkeeper. "Mister Butterbur," said Frodo, calling the innkeeper over to our table.

The fat innkeeper bustled over. "Yes, Mister Underhill?"

"Who is that man over there?" asked Frodo, nodding towards Aragorn. "You did not introduce him earlier."

"Him?" Butterbur seemed almost terrified at the prospect of discussing Aragorn. He lowered his voice and practically whispered his reply. "I do not rightly know. He is one of those wandering folk from the north. Rangers, we call them. He does not talk often. He comes and goes as he pleases. He will disappear for a month or a year and then appear again on one lonely evening. He was in and out often last spring, but he has not been coming in so often lately. His actual name, I do not know, but in these parts, he is known as Strider. Goes about at a great pace on his long shanks; though he goes not tell anyone to where he hurries. I would avoid him, Mister Underhill. No good can come about when you converse with Rangers."

Butterbur was distracted by someone calling his name and he had to scurry off to tend to his inn. Frodo and Sam were left to exchange cautious murmurs. I was trying to hide my laughter. Poor Aragorn does not have a good rep in these parts.

Aragorn suddenly made a movement. We all stared at him in confusion. It took me a second to realize that Aragorn was motioning for Frodo to come join him in his corner. (Aragorn—did he know how creepy he looked right them?)

"Go," I said, pushing Frodo in the back. "Go talk."

Frodo glanced at me and I nodded encouragingly. Sam was shaking his head, but Frodo decided to satisfy his curiosity. I watched as he wove his way through the tables and people talking. Slowly, Frodo lowered himself into the seat opposite Aragorn.

I laughed and turned my attention back to Sam. Sam had not torn his eyes away from Aragorn and Frodo. He seemed to be debating whether or not he should run over there and separate Frodo and Aragorn by force.

"Don't worry," I said. "Ar—Strider won't harm Frodo. The opposite, in fact."

"Who is he?" asked Sam.

"You heard Butterbur," I said. "He's a Ranger."

"But are Rangers safe?"

"Hardly." I laughed. "Just trust me."

"I have your pint!" Pippin slid into the seat next to me and handed me the pint of ale.

"Thanks." I took a tentative sip of the ale. "Not bad. But not as good as the ale in Gondor. Or the elvish wine. As much as I hate elves, they make good wine."

"You have met elves?" asked Sam in awe. (He seemed to trust me a little more after hearing this.)

"I've met plenty of elves," I said. "I've met Lothlorien elves. I've met Rivendell elves. I've met Mirkwood elves. The Mirkwood elves are the worst. Rivendell elves are pretty cool. Elrond's a little too grand for my taste—and he wears his daughter's tiara. But his children are awesome. Elladan and Elrohir are friggin' insane. But they taught me how to drink. And Arwen is _gorgeous_. Lothlorien elves are creepy. Galadriel is all like—I know your soul and you're like—go away, crazy woman! It's weird. But Mirkwood elves. Oh they are constantly drunk. And they're _rude_. You can tell them that you're starving and desperate—and they'll throw you in a dark prison cell without so much as a bite to eat. Those _jerks_."

Pippin and Sam gawked at me.

"You do not like elves very much," said Sam.

"Dwarves are where it's at," I said, nodding. I chugged down the rest of my ale. "This is good stuff. Pippin, can you get me another?"

I think Pippin was still in too much shock to say no. He took the pint from me and rose from his seat. Still wide-eyed, Pippin wandered back across the room to get a refill. Sam was staring at me, his mouth hanging open.

"Did I destroy you image of elves?" I asked.

Sam nodded slightly.

"Sorry. I've spent too much time around dwarves." I laughed and rose from my seat. "I'll just go talk to Frodo and Ara—Strider. Hope I didn't crush your dreams too much."

I made my way across the room—careful not to bump into anyone and accidentally spill their alcohol (it's happened before to dastardly effects). I managed to reach the dark corner where Frodo and Aragorn were talking. Aragorn had taken off his and was talking to Frodo in undertones. Frodo did not seem at all pleased with what he was hearing, though he listened with open ears.

"How are you?" I asked, taking the last open seat.

Aragorn stared at me in surprise and in annoyance. "Who are you?"

"You do not know her?" asked Frodo. "She seems to know you well."

"You seem to know me well." I said to Frodo. "Considering we don't meet until the future."

"We met at Bilbo's party," said Frodo.

"You should not be so open with your roots," said Aragorn.

"Whoops," I said. "I guess your secret it out, Frodo."

Frodo sighed. "If it was not out before, then you have certainly just made it known."

"Secrets are not my strong point," I said. "I like to talk too much." I turned to Aragorn. "We're going to meet again in Rivendell. How's Arwen? Have you seen her recently? Maybe not. She's super pretty. You to make an adorable couple. I will support you two until my dying day."

Aragorn stared at me. "Who are you again?"

"I'm Ana Stonbit."

"Never heard of you."

"Oh, but you will. You will." I laughed. "Quite a lot. We're going to get to know each other very will over the next year or so."

"I do not think I am going to enjoy this."

Something across the room caught Aragorn's eyes. He lifted himself from the seat a little so he could peer over out heads. His gaze darkened and he lowered himself back into his seat.

"Mister Underhill," said Aragorn. "As poor as you are at keeping you identity a secret, you companions are even worse. I suggest you keep Mister Took from talking too much."

Frodo and I looked over our shoulders at the bar counter. Pippin was sitting there, waiting for a refill on my pint. He was telling a story enthusiastically. It was a story about Bilbo disappearing at his birthday party. (I think the Ring was involved, though Pippin did not mention it.) I don't know—despite what Frodo said—I wasn't there.

Frodo, however, seemed quite concerned with the story Pippin was telling. He leapt up from his seat and sprinted across the room. He grabbed Pippin's arm and interrupted the story. All eyes turned to Frodo and he seemed suddenly aware that he had to drawn their focus away from the story of Bilbo. Frodo stood up on a table and began to sing. It was a silly little tune about an inn and the Man on the Moon.

I listened to one verse of the song, and then I saw the glint of metal out of the corner of my eyes. I looked down and saw that Aragorn was holding a knife. He was watching me carefully, the knife sitting in the his hand, dauntingly deadly.

"Who are you?" asked Aragorn again.

"Hey now," I said, inching my chair a little ways away from Aragorn. "Let's not get violent. You cannot kill me, so don't even try. I will just disappear before you can harm me."

Aragorn tensed, his suspicion heighted by my reply. "Who _are_ you?"

"The _Senturiel_."

"I do not know that word."

"The elves know," I said. "Elladan called me the _Senturiel_ once. You know Elladan, right? You were raised in the House of Elrond. You're friends with Elladan. Well, I'm friends will Elladan too. It wouldn't be right to attack the friend of a friend. I don't think Elladan would forgive you. And then Elladan wouldn't let you marry his sister. And I don't want that any more than you do. Like I said, I totally ship you and Arwen together. I don't like my ships to sink! Like this one time, I was watching the TV show _Revenge_ with my friend Bonnie. Amazing TV show, by the way. You should watch it. Except you don't have a TV. Right. Well, anyways, the TV show has this girl, Emily, who wants to get revenge on the Grayson family, so she ends up dating their son, Daniel—who is amazingly hot, by the way. And then, she and Daniel get engaged and they are perfect together, but they break up at the end of the season. She says she is only using him for revenge purposes, but it's obvious that she really loves Daniel. So, Season One ends in tragedy, but then in Season Two the writers decide to introduce a new lover interest whose like this annoying ex-boyfriend, Aiden, who has no where near the same amount of chemistry with the main character as Daniel does and the whole time I;m watching Season Two I'm like—My ship! My ship! It's sinking! But the captain must go down with the ship! Daniel and Emily all the way!" I took a deep breath. "So you and Arwen are like my Daniel and Emily. It would be a tragedy if Elladan stopped you from marring her because you tried to kill me."

Aragorn stared.

"It made sense in my head, okay?"

Someone screamed. I spun around. Frodo was falling off the table. He shouted. There was flash—the Ring—Frodo disappeared. People screamed. I Skipped. I was sitting on the kitchen floor. The dirty dishrag lay on the tiled floor next to me. My apartment was exactly how I had left it.

"It's good to be back," I grumbled.

* * *

**A/N: Go to FictionPress . com and look up the writer LinzRW. I just published my first story - Paradise. So you should read what I have so far. And review. Because I like reviews. Speaking of reviews, please review this story... Please...**


	42. How To Run Up

**XLII: How To Run Up**

I met Bonnie and Nick at the coffee shop later that week. Don't look at me like that. My life revolves around coffee, okay. That's the biggest flaw of Middle Earth. It's not the orcs. It's not the wars. It's not even the elves. It's the lack of coffee.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic. You've never even had coffee. Why am I telling you this?

So, coffee shop. Me. Nick. Bonnie. We were sitting inside, crowded around a black-metal coffee table. It was late fall and the weather had began to get chilly. We had our jackets and scarves draped over the back of our chairs, and we were leaned forward, hands wrapped around the hot coffee cups.

"And that's the story," I said. I finished talked and took a large gulp of my latte, emptying the cup.

"So," said Nick. "Frodo already knew who you were?"

I nodded. "He said I met him at Bilbo's birthday party."

"But you never went to Bilbo's birthday party," said Bonnie.

"Nope."

"So is he lying?" asked Bonnie.

"Or maybe," said Nick, pausing to take a sip of his mocha. "Frodo is telling the truth. He really did meet Ana at Bilbo's party; Ana has just not gone to Bilbo's party. But at some point, she will Skip to the party and meet Frodo there."

"That would make sense," I said. "Except this has never happened before. Usually people don't know me until I show up. It's a rule."

"The _Senturiel_ has rules?"

"Yeah," I said. "Rule Number One." I used my fingers to count off the rules. "I Skip between Ohio and Middle Earth. I Skip to Ohio then to Middle Earth then to Ohio…" I trailed off. "Except I've Skipped to Middle Earth multiple times in a row…"

"At least, you haven't Skipped to a new world yet," said Bonnie.

"Right," I said. "Rule Number One has changed. I Skip to two worlds and that's it. Rule Number Two: I cannot go to the same time twice." I paused. "Except I've been in the same time space twice, but in different places."

"So, you can be in two places at once?" asked Nick.

"I guess so."

"That's friggin' awesome."

"But I can't live through the same scene twice," I said. "Rule Number Three. If I go to the future and then to the past. My actions in the past time will affect the rules of the future time, but I will not remember the changes to the future time."

"That makes no sense," said Bonnie.

"It sorts of makes sense…" said Nick. He trailed off. "Nope. Never mind. I don't get it."

"So," I said. "Let's say, hypothetically, I met Thorin at Bilbo's dwarf party. And that was the first time I ever met Thorin. The Smaug stuff did not happen. He would be suspicious of me and I'd have to explain to him who I was. Okay? Well, then let's say I Skip to before Bilbo's dwarf party. Thorin would not know me and I'd have to introduce myself to him again and explain to him who I was again. But that would change the time when I meet Thorin at Bilbo's dwarf party, because he would remember me. But I won't remember the changes made at Bilbo's dwarf party, I will only remember the first time I met Thorin and introduced myself to him."

"This is too complicated for me," said Bonnie. "My little brain can't take it."

"Except now," I said. "Frodo remembers me and hadn't met him in the past yet."

"Well, that's the opposite of Rule Number Three," said Nick.

"Rule Number Four."

"There's more?" asked Bonnie.

"I don't think it matters," said Nick. "From what I can gather, all of Ana's rules are bull."

"Thanks," I said.

"Well, it's true," said Bonnie. "Not only do they not make sense, but you ended up having an exception for all of them."

"So, basically, there are no rules," said Nick.

"It just does whatever it wants." I groaned and leaned over to rest my head on the table. I lay there, my cheek pressed against the cool metal of the tabletop.

"You do know that's disgusting," said Bonnie. "Think of all the people who spill their coffee, put their dirty hands, their dirty napkins on that table. It's got to be nasty."

I sat up, removing my head from the filthy tabletop, and glared at Bonnie. "Don't ruin my wallowing."

"Wallowing is serious business," said Nick.

"You know what's even better than wallowing," I said.

"What?" asked Bonnie.

"Brooding."

"Here she goes," said Nick. "More Thorin fangirling."

"But it's true," I said. "It's so majestic. When you put him on a mountainside during the night with only the moonlight and a fire for lighting. Perhaps throw in some gentle wind. Then have Thorin stare off into the distance brooding and having flashbacks—he's amazing. Wallowing is one thing, brooding is on a whole different level."

"Does she talk about Thorin _all_ the time?" asked Bonnie.

"She'll work it into every conversation if she can."

"You two just don't appreciate Thorin," I said.

"I've never met him," said Bonnie. "How am I supposed to appreciate him?"

"His name is majestic enough," I said.

"I've met him," said Nick. "He's not as majestic as Ana makes him out to be. He is majestic, but not _that_ majestic."

I gasped. "Nick! Blasphemy! Blasphemy! Be gone! You are no longer part of this friendship! Be gone from my sight, you—!" I Skipped. "—rotten piece of goblin fodder."

"Who is a rotten piece of goblin fodder?"

I blinked. I wasn't standing in the coffee shop anymore. I was standing on the steep slope of a familiar mountainside. The ground was a mix of flat rocks and dirt. Pine trees rose from the ground, their roots clinging to the mountain. Their needles lay on the ground, covering the flat, rough rocks, slowly turning brown. On the mountainside was a group of dwarves—thirteen of them to be exact—a hobbit, and a wizard.

"I wasn't talking about you," I said, laughing sheepishly. "Skipping is really awkward."

If I remembered correctly, we were standing on the mountainside right where the dwarves had escaped Goblin Town—which meant that Bilbo had just found the Ring, which meant that the dwarves were talking bad about Bilbo behind his back, which meant that Bilbo was about to give his adorable speech, which meant I had been here before, which meant thee orcs were about to attack.

"Ana? What is the matter?" asked Bofur, stepping forward. He seemed as though he wanted to do something. Pat my shoulder, hug me, or comfort me or do something.

I glanced over my shoulder madly. "Wargs…"

"Where?" asked Thorin.

"They're—"

A deep roar echoed through the mountains. Like a cannon of our approaching demise, the howl rolled about the rocky, tree-covered slopes—twisting amongst the mountains and returning to us tenfold. It sent shivers up my spines and the dwarves around me tensed, their hands inching towards their weapons. Bilbo turned pure white and looked ready to pass out.

"There!" cried Ori.

We all turned in unison to see the wargs. They were standing on a stone ledge, looking out over the slope. They're black eyes narrowed with delight and hunger at the sight of us. Riding on the backs of the wargs were the orcs. They leered at us, revealing all their crooked, yellow teeth. Their weapons were poised. It was a hunt. And guess who they were hunting. (That was rhetorical.)

"Run!" someone shouted. I don't know who it was. I wasn't really paying attention. I just followed instructions. I ran like all hell was chasing after me and I didn't look back.

We all ran. The wargs chased after us, their feet pounding on the stone ground and the teeth gnashing together menacingly. Nori was in the lead of the flight, his triangular hair bouncing up and down. Fili and Kili followed closely behind him. Then came Balin, his white hair swinging wildly in rhythm with his run. Then there was Ori and Oin. Ori was clutching his little slingshot in his right hand and with his left he was groping in his pocket for some ammo. Oin didn't bother arming himself; his only thought was—run! Bombur came down the slope after then. He was practically rolling down the slope, his layers of fat rippling as he ran. Bifur and Bofur were chasing after their brother, trying desperately to keep up in case he rolled off the edge of the mountain. Then there was Gloin and Gandalf. Gloin leapt down half the slope, taking massive bounds as he went. Gandalf ran in long strides, huffing a little. Dwalin thundered after them, his shoes slapping against the forest floor. Then there was Dori and Bilbo. Dori had a thin layer of sweat on his brow and poor Bilbo was turning paler by the second. I brought up the rear with Thorin.

"Run faster!" roared Thorin.

"I'm trying!" I wailed. "I've been going to the gym when I can—it isn't working!" I paused and glanced at Thorin. "The gym is this place that you go to exercise and lose weight and get in shape."

Thorin groaned. And then—before I knew what was happening—he scooped my up and flung me over his shoulder. I screamed and clung onto Thorin's cloak, praying to dear God that he wouldn't drop me.

"You crazy dwarf! Crazy! You crazy, crazy, majestic dwarf!" I lifted my head and saw the wargs chasing after us. Their mouths were frothing with hunger. I screamed even louder. "Run faster! Run faster, you crazy dwarf!"

"The gym is not working," said Thorin, shifting me on his shoulder.

"Are you calling me fat?" I prodded him in the back, but I don't think he felt it through the thick armor.

Thorin didn't answer, because, at that moment, the dwarves reached the end of the the slope—and it ended in a cliff. I'm not kidding. Of all the things that had to happen, that was the worst. We were out of room to run. We were stuck between falling off a cliff down, down, down to go splat on the forest floor that was ridiculously far below or being devoured by massive wolves and cleaved by orcs. They were two _great_ choices.

The dwarves started panicking. The wargs arrived. One warg leapt at me, his jaws open wide. I screamed. The teeth were closing in around my head. Death. Thorin spun around. His sword flashed. I didn't see what happened. I was facing the edge of the cliff. Bilbo stabbed a warg through the head. Thorin spun again, his sword striking the orc this time. I saw blood. Gandalf shouted something. I couldn't hear. The dwarves were running to the trees. Thorin leapt off a rock to avoid an orc's blade. He landed roughly on the ground. My head bobbed up and down. The dwarves were climbing up the trees. The wargs snapped at their heels. Thorin caught hold of a tree branch and swung upwards. I screamed.

"Calm down," said Thorin, lifting himself onto another branch.

"How can I be calm!?" I shrieked. "Wargs are trying to eat us! Orcs are trying to kill us! We have no where to run and now we're climbing up trees!"

"That is where we are running to," said Balin, who had lodged himself in between two branches of the same tree. He stood a little ways above us, holding on for dear life, as he gazed down at Thorin and me. "We are running up."

"Can't we run _down_?" I asked. "Can we tunnel out of here?"

"You become even less intelligent when you are scared," said Thorin.

"I hate you!"

Thorin climbed out of the reach of the wargs. He caught hold of a thick branch and, keeping his feet firmly set on the branch below, braced himself. He did not put me down, but held onto me, locking me into position to make sure I wouldn't fall. At first, I wasn't sure what was going on—I could only see the orcs and wargs wandering about on the ground below. But then, one warg howled. All the other wargs took up the cry. They began attacking the trees.

I remember this scene very well. The dwarves were in the trees. Bilbo, Dori, Oin, and Bifur shared the tree furthest from the ledge. Bilbo had his arms wrapped around the tree trunk and his eyes clenched shut. Oin sat on a branch a little ways below Bilbo. Dori clung to the tree trunk. Bifur was the best tree climber, but even he could not keep his holding as the warg attacked the base of the tree. The wargs would leap up into the air—gaining great heights—and slam into the tree trunk, their teeth snapping at Oin's heels. The tree trembled—its trunk swaying and its branches quivering. For a terrifying second, I thought that Bilbo was going to fall out of the tree, but he managed to hold on. The wargs continued to slam into the tree trunk, trying to send the dwarves and hobbit tumbling to the ground.

The wargs did not stop with the first tree. They moved onto the others. The next tree contained Fili, Kili, Dwalin, and Ori. They shouted and held on for their lives, Fili catching hold of Kili before the dwarf went tumbling down into the jaws of a huge black warg. The third tree contained Gloin, Bofur, and Bombur. The tree groaned under Bombur's weight as the warg smashed into the trunk. Gloin was repeatedly saying the same phrase over and over against under his breath (I think he was saying: "I'll never make fun of Oin's mother if I survive this.") The next tree contained Balin, Thorin, Nori, Gandalf, and me. It was the last tree. It rested on the edge of the cliff, looking down over the long drop below.

My teeth chattered together in time with the tree's vibrations. Each shake shook the tree from the roots up. At one point, Thorin lost his grip and he almost fell from the tree. I screamed and scrambled for a handhold. I managed to catch hold of a think branch for a split second, but the moment my fingers felt Thorin's weight as well as mine, they gave out. Thorin grasped another branched and clung on for dear life.

"Oh my God," I said.

Another warg slammed into the trunk. Thorin kept an iron grip on the branch.

"I don't want to die," I said. "Not like this."

"Hold on," grunted Thorin.

The tree jerked backwards and forwards. The roots moaned in protest.

"Thorin," I said. "If we die, I just want you to know that you are the most important person to me."

"You are acting stupid again."

"Don't say I'm stupid when I'm trying to be serious!"

"If you are serious then do not say such stupid things," said Thorin. "Do something useful and hold on."

I clung to the branch with one hand and to Thorin with the other. I'm not sure if I was helping or hindering him, but, with all the strength I had in me, until my hands turned white, I held on.

And then, the trees fell over.

Well, not all of them. I was being dramatic there. Bilbo, Oin, and Bifur's tree went down first. It's trunk snapped and the tree started to lean. Bifur and Oin leapt onto the next tree and Dori helped Bilbo make the jump. The four of them clung to the branches as Fili, Kili, Dwalin, and Ori helped the dwarves and Bilbo keep out of the wargs' reach.

The roots let out a deep grunt and the gave in. The next tree fell backwards and the dwarves leapt up. They flung themselves at the next tree, leaping towards the branches. Fili clung from one branch, his feet swinging for something to rest on.

"Kili!"

"Fili!"

Kili was half falling off a branch with Dwalin holding onto the back of his shirt, trying to keep Kili upright.

"Jump!"

The third tree was cracking. Its trunk splintered and wood flew in all directions.

"Now!"

Ori kept a firm hold of his slingshot as he leapt to the next tree. His hands scrabbled for something to hold onto and he found a think branch. But the moment he put any weight on the branch, it snapped. Ori screamed as he tumbled down. Bombur caught Ori by the weight and pressed Ori to his stomach in a protective embrace.

The other dwarves leapt to the fourth tree. They stood there for a moment, gasping for breath. But they did not have long to rest, because the other trees came crashing into that one. The trunk did not even protest and the tree came down too. The dwarves shouted and leapt to the last tree. The last tree.

"Thorin!" I cried, clinging as tightly as I could. "We're going to fall next!"

"We will not fall," said Thorin.

"I don't want to die! It's high! Oh God! Thorin! I'm afraid of heights!"

"I know," said Thorin, grumbling. "We will not fall."

The other dwarves clung to the last tree as the others fell to the ground. The wargs and orcs walked over the fallen trees with ease. The thick trunks and trembling pine needles seemed not to bother them. Their hateful eyes, little and mean, seemed fixed only on us.

"What should we do?" squeaked Ori.

"We're going to die!" My fingernails were biting into Thorin's arm where I held onto him. "We're going to die! They're going to knock over this tree too and we're going to fall down, down, down, down, down, down until—splat—we're pancakes on the forest floor. Yummy pancakes for the wargs to have for breakfast!" I yelped. "I don't want to be a pancake! I'm not a pancake! I'm more of a waffle girl! I like waffles! Waffles don't go splat! They're nice and fluffy and not flat!"

"She has lost her mind in fear," said Dori.

I probably had lost my mind in fear. That seems to happen to me a lot. The panic spread to some of the other dwarves. Kili kept trying to hug Fili so tightly that the two of them would be pancaked together. Ori looked to be on the verge of crying while Bofur tried to comfort him. Panic spread through the tree. Balin had turned as white as a sheet and Gloin was throwing chunks of bark at the wargs. Thorin kept trying to slap some sense into me (not literally, he's too majestic to slap anyone.)

Only Gandalf managed to keep his head on straight. He plucked a pinecone from the tree and examined it carefully. He lifted his staff to the pinecone and muttered some foreign words under his breath. A fire that did not die twisted and turned within the pinecone.

"Thorin," said Gandalf. He tossed the pinecone to Thorin, who caught it one handed. Gandalf lit up a few more pinecones and tossed them to the other dwarves.

"Ah." Thorin tossed the pinecone up into the air. The flames crackled. He caught it again, this time using a piece of fabric to separate his bare hand from the heat of the fire.

"What is that?" I asked, still clinging to Thorin's other arm.

"A weapon," said Thorin. He plucked another pinecone out of the tree and held it up to his own pinecone. The fire that did not die caught alight on the next pinecone. Thorin handed me the second one. "Try not to set our tree on fire."

"You have so little faith in me," I said, holding the pinecone with the bottom of my shirt.

"Just do not look down," said Thorin.

Needless to day, I looked down.

I screamed and dropped the pinecone as I flung my arms around Thorin's neck. "Why is it so far down!?"

"The pinecone!" cried Nori.

Thorin and I watched, wide-eyed, as the pinecone bounced off one of the branches. It rolled down along the tree trunk, bounced off another branch, and then struck one of the warg square on the nose.

The warg howled. It reared backwards, releasing a high-pitched whine.

"Ah-ha!" I cried. "Take that!"

"Ana," said Thorin. "You set the tree on fire."

I looked down. The pinecone had left a trail of flames were it had touched some of the pine needles.

"Ah! Put it out!" I cried. "Put it out!"

"How?" asked Thorin.

"With your majesty!"

Thorin rolled his eyes. He threw his pinecone at one of the wargs. It struck the warg in the side and the warg's fur caught fire. It shrieked and sprinted away. The dwarves launched a volley of flaming pinecones. The wargs howled and retreated.

"Quickly," said Thorin. He draped me over his shoulder again and started to climb down the tree to where the flames twisted amongst the pine needles.

"Put me back!" I screamed. "I don't like this! You're going to be the death of me!"

"Good," said Thorin. He came to a halt a few feet above the twisting orange flames. He set me down on the branch next to him, careful that I was in a semi-safe position (one is never safe when one is in a tree). I wrapped my arms around the branch and refused to let go.

"We must put the fire out," said Thorin. "Or it will be the death of it all."

"You can go ahead and put it out," I said, eyeing the ground below. "I'll just be here and, um, supervise."

Thorin rolled his eyes. He pulled a pouch of water out of his bag and opened it. There wasn't much water in the pouch as far as I could tell, but Thorin poured the water of the flames and managed to subdue them.

"Good job," I said. "A plus work there."

"I might push you out of the tree," said Thorin. "It would spare us all the headache."

I opened my mouth to respond, but I stopped. Through the mountains of fallen trees and the prancing orange flames, I saw the ghostly figure of a pale blue orc stride a white warg.

"Who is that?" I asked. "What is that?"

Thorin turned and followed my line of sight. He froze as he caught sight of the ghostly orc.

"Azog," said Thorin in disgust.

"Who?" I asked.

"My grandfather…" murmured Thorin.

"Is he like one of those weird family relatives that you don't like to talk about?" I asked. "Because I have those too. Besides Rewin. There was this uncle one time who tried to marry a flamingo. In his defense, it was a pretty good-looking flamingo."

"He killed my grandfather," said Thorin.

"Oh…" My voice trailed off. "I guess he's not a crazy relative then."

"He is hunting me." Thorin's back was turned me. His eyes were fixed on the face of the ghostly orc. "He is trying to stop my quest. He wants Erebor for his own."

"He looks kind of scary," I said. "I don't think he'd appreciate Erebor for the décor."

"No," said Thorin. "No, he would not."

I stared at Azog. He seemed pretty pissed. He could not reach us—a roaring fire stood between his orcs and us. The sun had disappeared over the horizon and the sky was an inky blue. Vibrant flames lit the night, the pine needles reflecting the orange glow. Heat radiated from the ground up, a thin sweat covered my face. The orcs and their wargs paced up and down the mountain slope, while Azog watched us, trying to form a plan. The dwarves clung to the tree, watching the orcs nervously.

"Hey, Thorin," I said.

"What now?"

"You are going to do something stupid, aren't you?"

Thorin finally tore his eyes away from Azog. "What are you talking about?"

"You—"

The final tree fell down.

* * *

**A/N: Go to FictionPress . com and look up the writer LinzRW. I just published my first story - Paradise.**

**Please review. Because I love you. And - hopefully - you love me too. Please?**


	43. The Eagles Are Coming

**XLIII: The Eagles Are Coming**

The roots gave in. It wasn't a quick process, but a slow, drawn out fall. The tree shuddered and the roots released a long, low moan that filled us with an icy dread.

My eyes went wide and I jerked my head up. "What's happening?" I asked.

"Hold on!" roared Thorin.

The tree started to lean. At first, it only moved a little. We started to moved backwards, the trunk ever nearing the cliff edge. I shrieked and wrapped my arms around Thorin. He wrapped his arms around the tree branch.

"Kili!" cried Fili.

"Fili!" cried Kili.

"Not that way!" shouted Gloin.

The tree picked up speed and all of a sudden we were plummeting down, down, down at a rapid pace. I screamed. The tree moaned. Dori yelled The fires crackled. The roots snapped. The wargs howled. The orcs jeered. Azog watched with a mad delight.

You'll be happy to know that we did not fall off the cliff. Not all the roots gave in. The tree fell sideways, dangling off he cliff edge, running parallel to the ground thousands of feet below. The roots shuddered in protest, but they held steady for the time being. The pine needles trembled violently, and then became still. The trunk rested there. Solid and unmoving, yet on the most fragile ground—there was no ground at all. We were hanging in mid-air.

"You are a leech," said Thorin gruffly. "Even after all that, I cannot get rid of you."

"Your majesty is like a magnet," I said.

Thorin rolled his eyes. He gripped the tree branch and hauled himself upwards until we were lying on top of the trunk—our heads leaning over one side and our feet the other. The tree trembled for a second—our hearts dropped—but then it stilled.

"How are we still alive?" I asked.

"No thanks to you," said Thorin.

"Thank you," I said.

"Yeah, yeah. Just do not look down."

I looked down. It was a long way. The ground had become blurry and almost unrecognizable. There was some green of the forest trees and some blue of a river, but other than that, the ground was like a water color painting where everything had run together. It was the mouth of hell, waiting to swallow me up! A screamed bubbled in my throat and I grabbed hold of the nearest branch. I clung onto it with all my might. "Thorin! You're doing that on purpose!"

Thorin wasn't listening to me. His eyes scanned the tree, soundlessly counting the Company.

Bilbo was closest to us. His chin was resting on one of the branches and he was trying to pull himself up into a stable position. Thorin grabbed Bilbo by the scruff of his neck and hauled Bilbo onto the tree trunk. Bilbo lay next to me—gasping and panting with the raw terror of it all I understood his pain. The next nearest dwarf was a good ways away from us. Fili and Kili were shouting motivational things at one another. Then Dwalin was hugging on thick branch tightly to his chest as his legs dangled into the air below. Oin and Nori were holding onto the same branch. They were both trying to convince the other to move to a different branch so the weight would be a little less. Neither one was willing to move. Gloin was hugging the tree trunk a little past them and Balin was trying to shout something to Thorin as he tried to pull himself onto the tree trunk. His pink cheeks huff and puffed with the effort. Bofur continually said encouraging things to Bifur in their dwarf language. Bifur nodded and clung to the tree branch, his face growing paler by the second. Bombur sat near the end of the tree, causing the trunk to curve downwards. Behind him was Gandalf, who had Dori holding onto the end of his staff, who in turn had Ori holding onto his foot. Ori kept glancing downwards and screaming. Dori kept shouting Gandalf's name over and over again. Gandalf's face was turning pink with effort.

"Thorin," I said. "Why is the ground so far away?"

"Do not worry," said Thorin. "If you fall, you will Skip."

"But what if I don't?"

"Then your luck has run out."

"Thorin! That's mean and cruel. When someone is facing their fears, you're supposed to say comforting things to make that person—me—feel better. It's a matter of character."

"My character has always been this way."

"Bull! When I was six-years-old and Skipped to Erebor when Smaug was attacking—you were so nice then."

"Must you bring that up? It is because you did not know how to talk constantly then."

"I don't talk constantly now!"

"Do you two not have better things to talk about?" asked Bilbo. "Such as the fact that we are all about to die?"

"You mean the fact that we're all about to go splat?" I asked, my voice breaking an octave.

"You have issues with becoming a—what did you call it?—pancake," said Bilbo.

"She has many more issues than that," said Thorin. He wasn't looking at us. His face was turned towards the party of orcs. The flames illuminated his face with a brilliant orange light.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

Thorin did not answer. His eyes narrowed. I followed his line of sight and saw the pale blue orcs was glaring back at Thorin. Through the wild flames, Azog sat stride his white warg. The beast trembled with anticipation and Azog gripped his rough blade. Thorin watched his heated rage, deaf to the cries of his companions, or perhaps hearing them too much.

Thorin and Azog stared at each other for a good five minute. If I didn't know there history, I would have sworn there was a romance blooming right before my eyes. Then tension was mounting. Dori was about to lose his grip of Gandalf's staff, sending himself and Ori to their deaths. Oin and Nori were shouting for help. Bifur had almost fallen out of the tree entirely. And then, Thorin stood up.

Thorin is an idiot. I will not deny that for a second. But he is my idiot.

When Thorin got to his feet and stood, upright and majest, on the tree trunk, I knew three things 1) Thorin had never looked so majestic before in his life, 2) Thorin was going to do something brave, 3) Thorin was going to do something stupid.

Azog squinted at Thorin, trying to decide if the dwarf was going to do what it appeared he was going to do. As the truth slowly dawned on Azog, a smile spread across his deformed face. As if to say—come at me, dwarf.

Thorin took a step forward. The tree trembled slightly.

Thorin took another step forward and another. He smirked. The tree had not defeated him. Another step.

Stupid idiot. Stupid idiot. Stupid idiot. Stupid idiot. Stupid idiot.

"_Stupid idiot_!" I screamed. I pressed my hands against the rough bark of the tree and pushed myself into a standing position. "Thorin! You stupid idiot! I told you not to do anything stupid—and look at yourself!"

Thorin took another step towards Azog.

"At least acknowledge my existence, you idiot!"

I took three steps forward, practically sprinting down the tree trunk. I caught Thorin by the shoulder and spun him around to face me. I drew back my hand and slapped him. "Get some sense into your head, Thorin!"

Okay, I lied. That's not what happened.

You know me better than that.

I was standing on top of a tree trunk hanging off the edge of the cliff with definite death awaiting me below. Paralyzing fear entered every inch of my body. My hands were shaking, my knees were knocking and my heart was racing. I screamed and sprinted across the tree trunk to grab Thorin's arm. "Oh my God! It's so high! I'm going to fall, you idiot! I'm going to fall! How could you put me through this!?"

"Ana!"

And, you know what, we did fall. I grabbed onto Thorin, knocked him off balance, and suddenly the two of us tumbled from the tree.

Down we plummeted. The wind whistled in my ears. The wind whipped my hair in all directions. I clung to Thorin as tightly as I could. Maybe, maybe, I would Skip before he hit the ground. Then we wouldn't die. We wouldn't die. Oh God. We were going to die! We were going to die!

We didn't die.

We landed on a warm back of feather. We didn't know it was feather at first. One moment, we were falling, the next we had landed on something soft. We were soaring upward with the uncomfortable beating to wings beside us.

Thorin sat up. "Eagles…" he said.

The eagles were attacking the orcs. With great prowess, they swooped down from the sky and plucked the screeching orcs from the cliff. Azog roared and his white warg retreated, the other orcs chasing after him. The eagles then scooped up the dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf from the falling tree. Suddenly, we found ourselves away from harm and soaring through the air on the backs of eagles.

Well, I wouldn't say entirely safe from harm.

I was lying flat across the eagle's back. My face was buried in the eagle's fur and my eyes were wrenched shut. "Don't tell me not to look down," I said. "Because you know I will look down. And I don't want to look down."

"We are on the back of an eagle," said Thorin.

"I know," I said. "Eagles are shifting, unstable things. I could easily fall off an eagle's back. This is even worse than the time I was carried to war by a talking tree."

"You were carried to war by a talking tree?" asked Thorin.

"You had to be there," I said. I clutched the eagle's feather's between my fingers and shuddered. "If Stewie drops me, I will not be happy."

"Stewie?" asked Thorin.

"The eagle."

"You named the eagle?" Thorin sighed. "I should not be surprised."

The group of eagles crossed the mountain fall. Gandalf rode on the back of the head eagle. He was at the front of the group, his gray hair blowing in the wind. The eagle carrying Bombur looked a little disgruntled with the situation (yes, eagles can look disgruntled.) Then there was Fili and Kili, laughing and joking with one another after having survived the near-death experience. Dori and Ori were just happy to have their lives. Bilbo and Bofur rode together on the back of one gorgeous, tawny eagle. The bird kept soaring up and down, shifting place in the group constantly (I'm really glad that I wasn't riding that eagle. I would not have survived it.) Gloin and Bifur were lying on the nearest eagle and then Nori, Oin, and Balin shared the light brown eagle at the back of the flock. Dwalin had his own eagle. Thorin and I were somewhere in the middle of the group, out eagle soaring high above the others, so that we could look down (not that I was looking down much).

"You're lucky Stewie was here," I said. The eagle made a sharp turn to the left and I wrenched my eyes shut.

"Do you not mean that you are lucky that Stewie was here?" said Thorin. "You were the one who caused us to fall off the tree."

"That's because you were being an idiot. I told you not to be an idiot, but you decided to be an idiot anyway. I don't approve of your idiocy. _I'm_ the idiot, remember? You're the level-headed one who tells me when I'm doing something stupid—not the other way 'round!" I opened my eyes. "Oh my God! It's a long way down!"

"I was only doing what I had to."

"What? Attacking an armed orc on a massive warg? In what scenario do you win? Who were you helping? What happened to Erebor? Were you going to return home in a coffin? We can kindly ask Smaug to let us burry your remain under the mountain—maybe he'll be merciful and make our deaths quick! What were you thinking What _were_ you thinking?"

Thorin glowered at me, his black eyebrows scrunched together. "We were between falling to our deaths and being killed by orcs. I figured we had better chances with the orcs."

"The eagles were coming!"

"I did not know that."

"You should have… You should have…" I caught sight of the ground and buried my face in my hands. "I'm going to be sick."

"What?"

"Why are we so high up? Can we land? Oh my God! It's so far down! I don't want to be a pancake! I don't want to be a pancake!"

"Stewie will not let you fall."

"Yes, he will," I moaned, still refusing to move my hands away from my face. "I don't think he likes me very much."

"Well," said Thorin. "I cannot fault him there."

"Do you have to be so mean all the time? It's hard for a girl to gain any self confidence."

Thorin smiled (a rare occurrence). "It provides for great amusement."

"Mean," I said. "Stewie agrees with me on this one, don't you Stewie?" I patted the eagle's back.

Stewie did not respond.

"He's a little shy," I said.

Stewie leaned forward slightly and started to descend.

"Oh my God!" I screamed. I flung my arms around Thorin and held on for dear life. "What's he doing!? Stewie! No! Don't kill us! Don't kill us! You just saved our lives! Letting us die now would just be undoing all your hard work!"

"He is not going to kill us," said Thorin, trying to pry me off of him. "He is going to land."

Thorin was right, of course. All of the eagles descended in unison, using their massive wings to guide them. Down they went, soaring with grace and easy into a green, lush valley. The walls of the valley rose up, forming a sort of basin through which a crystallized blue river flowed. In the center of the valley, a stone pillar rose upwards. I could not tell if the pillar was constructed by some sort of being or created by nature itself. The stone pillar was rough with the rocks sticking out in odd directions. The pillar was about twenty feet in width and about the same in length—the top formed a sort of platform that we could stand on. The eagles—one by one—descended and placed up down on the top of the stone pillar. Then, the eagles soared away back to the mountains.

"They couldn't have set us down on the ground!" I wailed. I sat down on the platform and covered my eyes. "Don't make me look! Don't make me look!"

"You are pathetic," grunted Dwalin.

"You sound like Thorin," I said through my hands.

"I do not think you are pathetic. Everyone has their fears. Your fear happens to be height."

"Thank you Bofur," I said. "You are as ridiculously lovely as always."

"Why thank you, Ana."

"This loveliness is making me ill," said Kili.

"You're just jealous," I said.

"We have just survived a dangerous situation," said Bilbo. "I suggest we do not argue amongst ourselves, but remain amiable."

"I like Bilbo's suggestion," I sad.

"You like any suggestion that does not cause harm to you," said Balin. "We have learned that your input means nothing most of the time."

I nodded. "Good point. Though I do have the occasional moment of brilliance."

"Can we find a more constructive topic of conversation?" asked Ori. "Like how are we going to get down from here?"

"The answer is quite simple, Master Ori," said Gandalf. "We must climb down."

I laughed. "Have fun with that. I'll just stay up here until I Skip home."

"That could be quite a long time though," said Bilbo.

"Then I'll just jump down. I should Skip away before I hit the ground."

"I am confused," said Dori. "You are terrified of heights, but you can jump down from great heights because you know you will Skip away before you strike the ground. Then why are you afraid of heights in the first place?"

"It is the mystery of our nature," said Gandalf.

I nodded. "There's a difference between when you jump from a height of your own free will and when someone pushes you off. I can jump from great heights after much practice."

"You practiced?" asked Balin.

"Yeah. I stood on the edge of the roof of my apartment building for an hour every day until I could jump off and Skip," I said. "I needed to rescue Bonnie and Nick, but I couldn't work up the courage to jump. So I stood there and thought about jumping. I was sure I would Skip before anything terrible happened to me, but there was always this doubt. I kept imaging that I could go splat on the ground and I would splatter the sidewalk with my brain matter."

"Well, it is no wonder you are afraid of heights now," said Dori, shuddering.

"Oh yeah," I said. "I never thought of that."

"Thorin?" asked Kili. "What do you see?"

The Company turned in unison to see what had captured Thorin's attention. The dwarf stood at the far edge of the pillar, looking out over the vast, green forest of Mirkwood. The trees were a tangled mess, their crooked branched bent over as if they were trying to hide from the sun. Mirkwood stretched far into the distance, until it met the blue sky on the horizon. And—where the two world met—a hulking mountain appeared, vivid and daunting in comparison to the vibrant world around it.

"The Lonely Mountain," said Thorin. "Erebor."

"It looks a lot smaller than I remember," I said. I had finally removed my hands from my face so that I could see the mountain.

"It is far away," said Gandalf. "Things that are far away have a tendency of appearing smaller."

"Great," I said. "Thankfully, I don't have to walk the whole way with you guys."

"We have to walk?" asked Bombur. "Could the eagles have no carried us further?"

"I like walking," I said.

"The eagles are not our personal transportation," sad Gandalf.

"They have eagle stuff they have to be doing," I said.

"Like what?" asked Bombur.

"Like making nests and feeding their young," said Bofur. "The eagles families might become worried if the eagles are away from home for too long."

"Aw," I said. "Can we just have a moment of silence here to appreciate Bofur's loveliness?"

Bofur turned bright red.

"No," said Thorin.

"And now," I said. "Let's have a moment to appreciate Thorin's majesty. Warning. Prolonged exposure might lead to a permanently damaged ego."

"It is so pretty," said Bilbo.

"I agree," I said. "He almost sparkles in the sunlight."

"I am speaking of Erebor," said Bilbo, staring out at the shadowed mountain. "I did not know places like this still existed in the world."

"Oh. Erebor and Thorin sound really similar."

Bilbo breathed a sigh of relief. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

I fell over laughing. I'm sorry. Just… Just… Oh my God. That line! Poor Bilbo, you have no idea what awaits you, do you? Yeah… I laughed for a good ten minutes straight.

* * *

**A/N: ****In the last chapter, I think some people were confused when Ana said that "you've never had coffee". Some people were offended by this line, thinking Ana is addressing them. No. Ana is not talking to you. "You" is someone else entirely. **

**Anyways, I feel no shame is not having Bilbo rescue Thorin from Azog because that didn't happen in the book.**

**Please review!**


	44. Big Ol' Group Hug

**XLIV: Big Ol' Group Hug**

"So," said Bilbo. "How are we going to get down from here?"

"That is a very good question," said Dori.

The two of them stood at the edge of the platform (They are braver souls than me) and stared down the edge of the pillar. The rocks were jagged and rough. They certainly provided a lot of handholds, but the ground was a long way down. The trees blurred together into a giant blob, waiting to consumed anyone who fell from such a great height.

"That was not very nice of the eagles," said Ori.

"They probably flew away laughing amongst themselves," said Nori.

"Those cruel eagles," muttered Oin. "Curse them."

"You should be thankful to them," said Gandalf. "They did rescue us from the clutches of the orcs."

"They could have picked a better spot," said Gloin gruffly.

"There is only one way down," said Thorin. (Don't say it Thorin, I thought, don't say it. "And that is to climb." (Damn, he said it.)

The dwarves grumbled amongst themselves and I turned a brilliant shade of white. It was a long way down. Long, long, _long_ way down. Climbing was not my strong point and this time there was no Boromir to carry me. And Thorin didn't seem the type to piggyback me down a pillar (that sounded weird). Which meant I would be climbing on my own. Bad idea. Bad idea. Bad idea. I would slip and fall and splat and splat and be dead, dead, dead, dead.

"I have a better idea," I said, getting to my feet.

Thorin rolled his eyes. "Here we go."

I stood up—oh God it was high up—and took a step across the platform. And another step. Oh God it was high. And another and another. I was going to be sick. So far down… Until I was at the edge of the platform gazing down at the forest far below.

"What are you doing?" asked Balin.

"I don't do heights," I said.

"So why are you standing on the edge of the platform?" asked Thorin. He seemed pretty irritated with me. Not that that was anything new.

"Didn't I say before?" I said, smiling. "It's better to jump off a building than have someone push you off."

"I am confused," said Ori.

Thorin wasn't confused. Thorin understood what I was about to do perfectly well. He lunged forward and—right before I could jump off the pillar—he grabbed me by the back of the shirt. He dragged me away from the ledge.

"Who was it who said I should not do anything stupid?" asked Thorin.

"No!" I cried, trying to pull myself out of his grasp. My arms were extended in front of me and my hands scrambled through the air, trying to grab onto something so I could pull myself back to the edge. "Let me go! Let me go! I want to jump! Anything but climbing down!"

"You are being stupid," said Thorin. He did not put a lot of effort into holding me back. The strength difference between the two of us was too great. He only had to hold onto the back of my shirt with one hand and I could not go anywhere.

"I'll just Skip away!" I cried. "I'll just Skip away before I land! Don't make me climb down!"

"You said yourself," said Thorin. "What if this is the one time that you do not Skip."

"And what if it's like every other time!?" I asked. "Let me go! I will not climb down! Never! Nope!"

"I am confused," said Ori.

"Yes, you said that two minutes ago," muttered Nori.

"She is afraid of heights," said Ori. "But she wants to jump."

"It is Ana," said Balin. "Do we really need more of an explanation than that?"

Ori considered this for a second. "No. That explains everything."

"You people are mean!" I cried. "I just don't want to climb down from here!" I spun around and glared at Thorin, who had still now released me. "Let go!"

"You are being stupid," said Thorin. "I will not let go until you cease to be stupid." He paused to consider this. "Which means I will be holding onto you forever. Maybe I should say I will hold on to you until you cease stupidly wanting to jump."

"It's not stupid!" I wailed. "I just don't want to climb down!"

"You do not have to jump!" cried Bofur. "You need to share your feelings of despair and hopelessness with us so that we may help you through this troubling experience! We do not wish for you to resort to the most extreme solution without trying all other possible solutions first! You are a part of our Company and we are here for you if you need us!"

I stared at Bofur. His dark brown eyes were wide with earnest and the ears of his floppy had were quivering. He was an adorable ball of emotion.

I started crying (don't ask me why). "Don't worry, Bofur! I won't jump off of any more buildings! I promise! No more buildings! I didn't know you felt that way! I always thought I was just this annoying girl who showed up every once in awhile, I didn't know I was apart of the Company!"

"You are not," said Thorin.

I wiped my runny nose with the back of my hand and sniffled. "I love you guys so much and you all have awesome beards. Except Bilbo. Who's just a really awesome hobbit."

"We love you too!" cried Ori. He ran forward and flung his arms around my neck.

Bofur joined int the hig, wrapped his arms around both Ori and me.

"Do not leave us out!" cried Kili as he and Fili joined in the group hug. One by one the others dwarves joined. Dori, Balin, Nori, Bifur, Oin, Gloin, Bombur and finally Dwalin. Bilbo joined in to, though he was sort of hesitant to hug the dwarves. Even Gandalf took part. Eventually, it was only Thorin standing awkwardly to the side.

"Come on, Thorin!" I cried. "You have to hug too!"

"I would prefer not to."

Dwalin reached over and grabbed Thorin's arm. He pulled Thorin into the group hug and soon we were all sandwiched together in an emotional bonding embrace. Ori and I were crying. Bofur kept patting us on the head and trying to calm us down.

"Ana," said Fili. "You cry too much."

"Shut up," I said. "I'm enjoying my dwarf therapy session." I reached out and grabbed hold of Fili's sleeves. I blew my nose of his sleeve and sighed with relief. "My nose was clogged."

"Thank you," said Fili, wiping his sleeve on Bombur's stomach. "You are too kind."

"I think we should stop the group hug now," said Dori, who was trapped between Dwalin and Balin.

"Agreed," said Nori on whom Bombur was practically sitting.

The group somehow managed to untangle themselves and we returned to standing separately on the platform. Except for me. I was still hugging Bofur tightly.

"What are you doing, Ana?" asked Gandalf wearily.

"He's so soft and warm," I said. "I want to hug him for eternity."

Thorin sighed. "And this is why group hugs with Ana are a bad idea."

"There is so much love in the air," said Ori, clapping his hands together excitedly.

"I think I am allergic to it," said Dwalin.

"Ana," said Bofur. "I love you very much too, but all this hugging limits my movements."

"No," I said., resting my cheek on his shoulder. "You are my Bofur and my Bofur you shall always be. We will never be separated and we will love one another for ever and ever and ever."

Bifur stepped forward and grabbed Bofur's left shoulder and my right shoulder. Bifur pried us apart, even though I tried to hold onto Bofur with all my might. Unfortunately, I'm not strong enough to rival a dwarf (Maybe I need to hire a trainer when I go to the gym from now on). Eventually, Bifur used great force to jerk Bofur and I apart. Unfortunately, Bifur used a bit too much force. I stumbled backwards—step, step, step, oops edge of the cliff. I stood on the edge for a moment, my body deciding which way it was going to fall and then down I went.

"Ana!"

I screamed. "Bifur, I will cut off your beard while you sleep!"

I Skipped.

"I will kill what you love!"

"Ana?"

I blinked. I was sitting back in the coffee table at the Starbucks near my apartment. Bonnie and Nick were still sitting at their table, though with refreshed cups of coffee. A heavy silence had settled in the shop as all the employees and customers had turned around to stare at me—the crazy girl screaming about revenge. I smiled sheepishly and waved at them.

"Kidding," I said.

An old woman shook her head and turned backed to her husband to mutter about "Kids these days." Slowly, the other people returned to their conversations and I was left to my private business.

"You were gone a long time," said Nick.

"How long?" I asked.

"About three and a half hours," said Nick. "We figured you'd turn up eventually."

"We drank lots of coffee," said Bonnie.

"Good to know," I said. "I want some hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate?" asked Bonnie. "Aren't you the girl who calls hot chocolate the child's version of coffee?"

Nick coughed and elbowed Bonnie in the ribs. "I'll get you some hot chocolate, Ana." He rose from his seat. "When I get back you have to tell us what happened in Middle Earth."

"Alright," I said.

Nick walked to the counter. I watched him for a moment before turning back to Bonnie.

"'I will kill what you love'," said Bonnie, smiling a little. "Was that meant for us or for someone else?"

"Bifur pushed me off a ledge," I said. "And we'd just had a huge group moment too."

"I'm really curious to hear the full story now," said Bonnie.

"Wait for me," said Nick. He grabbed the Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate off the counter and joined Bonnie and me at the table. I took the cup from him and sipped it. It tasted like a child's version of a mocha. I took another sip. I still don't understand why Boromir liked hot chocolate so much.

And so, I told them the story. I told them about the Company being chased by wargs and about Thorin's stupidity and about my stupidity and about Bifur's stupidity. I think there was a lot of stupidity going around in that Skip. More so than normal. Which is saying something.

"Sounds fun," said Nick.

"I'm even more traumatized when it comes to heights than before," I said.

"You and Thorin are hilarious," said Bonnie. "You're happy go lucky and Thorin goes—shut up. And I'm sitting here listening to it going—Thorin, you the _man_."

"Correction," I said. "Thorin—you the majesty." I took a sip of my hot chocolate.

Nick leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table top and his chin in the pal of his hand. "Ana and Thorin would make the cutest couple."

I spat out a mouthful of hot chocolate, the brown droplets splattering all over the table top. "Say wha'?"

"I ship you two so hard," said Nick, smiling dreamily. "You two are the definition of opposite attract. It's so cute. The way he pretends to be mean, but he actually cares about you deeply and even carries you while running away from scary wargs. And how you even risk falling off a tree to save him from doing something stupid. It's all so cute. Not to mention, it'd be _really _ funny to see you two date."

I used a napkin to mop up my mess. "Nick."

"Yes, Mrs. Oakenshield?"

"You are friggin' insane!"

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Oakenshield."

I turned to Bonnie. "Please hit him for me."

Bonnie drew back her hand and slapped Nick over the back of the head. "I've been wanting to do that for awhile," she said, brushing off her hands.

"Ow," said Nick. He rubbed the spot where Bonnie had hit him. "That wasn't necessary. You've never met Thorin, but he and Ana are so cute together. Better than you and Jack." Nick turned to me for tha last part.

"That name," I muttered. "I should have known he was no good."

"How?" asked Nick.

"His name reminds me of jack-in-the-box. Have you seen those things You wind up the thing and then this creepy little clown jumps out of a box—in what universe was this a good idea for a child's toy? It's friggin' scary! I mean, can't you see it? You get a cardboard box in the mail and you open it up and Jack jumps out. He is dressed up in a color clown suit with paint of his face and holding a knife. What the frig!?"

Bonnie and Nick stared me.

"You are one fucked up little girl," said Bonnie.

"Thanks, Ana," said Nick. "I'm going to have nightmares now."

"I'm just saying—Jack, jack-in-the-box—I should have seen it coming." I took a sip of the hot chocolate. "Anyways, I only fangirl Thorin. He is majestic. He is too majestic for romance."

"That's your excuse, you romantically awkward person," said Nick, scoffing. "I'm ready to go. I've been in this coffee shop long enough."

"But I only just got here," I said.

"Not my fault," said Nick. He rose from his seat and tucked the chair under the table with his foot. "You can bring your hot chocolate with you."

"I've never met Thorin," said Bonnie. "I don't think I can participate in this discussion until I get to meet him. Ana, next time you bring go to Middle Earth, bring me with you."

I took a long draught of my hot chocolate to avoid answering.

"He's short," said Nick. "Let Ana's height short."

"He's taller than me," I said.

"That makes you and even more perfect couple," said Nick.

"I will regret nothing if I dump this cup of hot chocolate over your head," I said.

"You're not taller enough to reach my head," said Nick.

"Just pour it over his pants," said Bonnie. "He has a date with Karen after this."

"Oh." I grinned over at Nick. "How would you like to show up for your date with wet pants?"

"I would—what was the phrase?—kill all the you love."

"Kill what you love," I corrected.

"Which basically means I would have to kill Thorin," said Nick. He sighed and shook his head. "What a shame, I knew he really wants to regain Erebor."

I pulled the lid off my hot chocolate and moved towards Nick. I prepared to dump the drink all over his jeans, but Nick caught my wrist. Some of the hot chocolate sloshed over the sides of the cup and down my arm. I shrieked and dropped the cup. Hot chocolate sprayed in all directions as it struck the ground, splashing over my shoes and jeans. I leapt backwards and slammed into Bonnie. And then, I Skipped. Taking Nick and Bonnie with me.

Frig.

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**A/N: Meh. Not my favorite chapter... Had some good moments though. **

**Review! Please! Spread the love!**


	45. The Sound Of Wedding Bells

**XLV: The Sound Of Wedding Bells**

"Tonight, we remember those who gave there blood to defend this country. Hail, the victorious dead!"

Theoden lifted his golden cup to the sky and the brought it to his lips. He gulped down the ale and held a moment of silence. Then, as the crowds began to move towards the kegs of ale, Thoeden turned to me and said, "What are you doing here…" His voice trailed off for a moment and he glanced at Eomer.

"Ana," said Eomer.

"Ana," said Theoden, nodding. "What are you doing here, Ana? And who have you brought with you?"

Bonnie, Nick, and I were standing to the side of the hall, surrounded by a few of Rohan's soldiers (Eothain, Eomer, Taysend, and two riders I did not recognize). The hall was filled with the people of Rohan. Some women, though it was mostly men. The kegs of ale were brought out and the merrymaking began. From what I could gather, Rohan had just won a significant battle over the enemy and they were now celebrating.

"Theoden doesn't even remember my name," I said. "I think that's a first."

"Yeah," said Bonnie. "Usually you're so annoying that the next time people see you they turn and run in the opposite direction."

"Thanks. Maybe it's a good thing Theoden doesn't remember my name."

"Behave yourself," said Eomer, resting a hand on my shoulder in reminder.

I looked over my shoulder and grinned at him.

"She never behaves herself," said Taysend.

"Hey, Taysend!" I cried, clapping my hands together. "Long time no see!"

"It has only been a few days."

"Really? It feels like so much long…"

"Ah," said Theoden suddenly. "Ana. I remember now…" Theoden suddenly turned around and caught sight of Aragorn on the other side of the room. "Ah yes, I must congratulate Lord Aragorn on his excellent, um, swordsmanship." Theoden walked away as quickly as he could.

"And there you go," said Bonnie. "A common reaction to Ana."

"I love you too," I said.

"Legolas!" cried Bonnie.

We all spun around to see Legolas standing on the other side of the room, his long blond hair hanging between his shoulder blades. He looked as feminine as always. (Stupid pretty boy.) Gimli stood near Legolas, holding a pint in his right hand. Now _that_ is what a man should be. Short and strong with a full beard.

Nick, Eomer, Taysend, and I moved across the room after Bonnie to join in her conversation with Legolas.

"Hey," I shouted after Bonnie. "You and Nick have to stay close to me all night! No letting go! What if I Skip without you! Bonnie! Don't go chasing after that pretty boy!"

Legolas looked up at the sound of his name and caught sight of Bonnie. His eyes widened in surprise and then he smiled. "Hello, Bonnie. You have not aged a day." He frowned. "That is not normal in a human."

"Way to state the obvious, Legolas," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Maybe I'm part elf," said Bonnie.

"And maybe you're a monkey's uncle," said Nick. (I'm proud of Nick and his ability to bring monkeys into the conversation.)

"I do not understand," said Legolas. "I thought the term 'uncle' only refer to men."

"Bonnie is secretly a man," I said. "But because she's part elf, she looks female. It's in elven genetics."

Legolas's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Are you insulting me?"

"She insults everyone she meets," said Taysend.

"Except Thorin," I said. "He's a perfect dwarf—the perfect vessel of majesty!"

Taysend stared at me for a second and then turned back to the others. "As I said, she insults everyone she meets."

"Ana!"

Eowyn was making her way across the room, weaving through the crowds of increasingly drunk men. She smiled at me, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners. She looked as ridiculously beautiful as always in a silvery blue dress.

"Hi!" I said, stepping forward to give her a hug. "How you been, dahling?"

"We have survived the battle," said Eowyn.

"Yeah, you're right," I said. "Stupid question."

"How are your wedding plans coming?" asked Eowyn.

"Wedding?" asked Nick. "Whoa. Ana! You didn't tell me! So you and Thorin are finally deciding to get hitched."

"Thorin?" Eowyn looked from Nick to me, her forehead furrowed with her confusion. "Who does he speak of, Ana?"

"I'm not getting married to Thorin," I said. "I'm marrying Gimli."

Gimli blinked. "When did this come about? Did I agree to this?"

"When you were sleeping. No doubt," said Aragorn. He stepped forward to join the group, wrapping one arm around Gimli's shoulders. "Am I hearing wedding bells?"

Eowyn immediately stiffened at the presence of Aragorn.

"Yeah," I said. "Gimli and I are getting married. Don't worry, Gimli, I already got your father's approval—I just complimented his beard a whole lot and he was willing to agree to anything I wanted."

"Alas," said Legolas. "It is the folly of dwarves."

"I do not understand," said Gimli. "I am certain I did not agree to marry Ana."

"But Ana said you two were planning a wedding—her bridesmaids were going to be dwarves." Eowyn seemed very confused.

"They were going to be wearing dresses," I said, nodding.

Eomer sighed. "This is another one of Ana's strange fantasies."

"She has strange fantasies?" asked Eowyn

There was a collective groan amongst the men of the group as a huge grin spread across my face.

"Yeah," I said. "I have fantasies about Ian Somerhalder, Patrick Dempsey, Aaron Rodgers, Chris Hemsworth, Josh Halloway, James Marsden, and Richard Armitage. Now _those_ are fantasies. Mm-Mmm."

"You forgot to add Thorin to that list," said Nick.

"So are you and Gimli not getting married?" asked Eowyn.

"Please do not ask any more, dear sister," said Eomer. "Ana's answers will haunt my nightmares."

"Of course, we're still getting married," I said. "I've already bought my white dress." I turned to Gimli, pouting and trying to bring tears to my eyes. "I've been dying to wear that dress for so long now! I've been so excited for this, you have no idea! I was going to walk down the aisle and Thorin was going to be my maid of honor…I was so excited! I was even willing to let Legolas be your best man! But now you're pretending like nothing ever happened between us! I thought we have something special!" I actually managed to make myself cry.

"I, I, I, I did not know," said Gimli. "I did not know you felt so strongly about me."

"Only you," I said. "I was so certain it would be you."

"Thorin," coughed Nick.

"This is embarrassing to watch," said Bonnie.

"She is faking it," said Legolas.

"Must you always state the obvious?" asked Eomer.

"Bring out the ale," said Taysend.

"I am still confused," said Eowyn. "Are they not getting married?"

Eomer patted his sister on the shoulder. "You are incredible woman and you can best many a men with the sword, but I worry about you some times."

"Ale?" asked Gimli. "I don't suppose I might help myself."

"Hey!" I cried. "You're ruining my moment here!"

The group migrated over to an open keg and Eomer began filling mugs for everyone. And then, the drinking competition began. Now, before you jump to conclusions, I was not a part of this drinking competition. I was drinking—that's a given—but this game was based on an ancient grudge. A showdown between elves and dwarves. Legolas and Gimli. The last man-creature standing wins.

"So, it is a drinking game?" said Legolas hesitantly.

Bonnie smirked. "Yes, Legolas, it is a drinking game."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked Gimli gruffly. "Have at them."

Eomer handed out the first round of ales. Gimli and Legolas downed the first pints without problem.

"I think the dwarf has this one in the bag," said Nick. "Elves are too pretty to drink right."

"My money's on Legolas," said Bonnie.

"You're biased," said Nick. He turned to me. "And you? Who's your money on, Ana?"

"Me?"

"She might cheat, though," said Eomer. "With her uncanny ability to Skip, she probably already knows the outcome of this drinking game."

"Yes," said Taysend. "Because the outcome of this drinking game is so important to Middle Earth's future that it will be talked of in years to come."

"You never know," I said. "Perhaps if I changed to outcome of this drinking game, the world would explode. I wouldn't put it past the Skipping."

"The _Senturiel _works in mysterious ways," said Legolas, finishing off the second round.

"The Sen-tur-ee-al?" said Gaenry, pushing his way through a group of loud, bawdy men to join us around the keg. "What is the Sen-tur-ee-al?"

"_Senturial,_" I said. "It's the magic rock that I supposedly am the reincarnation of."

"You are the reincarnation of a magic rock" asked Taysend.

"Yeah. A mystical elf woman told me so."

"Then that confirms that it is true," said Gaenry.

"Do not call the Lady Galadriel a mystical elf woman," said Gimli. "Or I shall not go through with this wedding."

I crossed my arms and glared at Gimli as his gulped down another ale. "How can I go through with this wedding anyway when all you can think about is _her_? Am I supposed to go through life with the shadow of Galadriel over my head?"

Eowyn shook her head. "You two have some issues to sort through before your wedding day."

Gimli let out a loud belch. Silence fell over the group as we all gazed at him in amazement. Then, we all fell over ourselves laughing like fools. I think the alcohol was finally getting to everyone's heads.

"Taysend! Gaenry! Eomer!" I cried, wrapping my arms around Eomer and Gaenry's shoulders. "It's been a long time since we've been out drinking together."

"It has only been a few days," said Taysend.

"I don't know what you're talking about. So where is Dorthin, son of Dunethin? My psychic waves are not picking up his presence."

A heavy hush fell over the three of them. The smiles slipped off their faces and they stopped drinking. Taysend stared into his mug of ale, his eyes clouded with some unknown shadow. Gaenry was suddenly extremely interested in Bonnie and Nick's conversation. Only Eomer took it upon himself to answer me.

"Recall, Ana, my uncle's speech at the beginning of the celebrations. We honor the victorious dead."

I almost dropped my ale. My eyes grew very wide and my heart started beating rapidly. I searched for words, for some sort of joke to fill the weighty silence, but my tongue could find nothing. Some small part in the back of my mind murmured that now was not the time for jokes, but another, more desperate, part of me started flipping through my repertoire of humor. In the end, what came out, was a wrangled half-laugh, half-sob and the words, "Why did oh my God, Dorthin the chicken how cross the road—Dorthin!"

"Are you alright?" asked Eomer.

I coughed. "I need a seat."

I sat down on the floor of the hall. I'm not kidding. I didn't have time to wait for someone to get me a chair. I just sat down on the hard stone floor, crossed my legs, and took a sip of my ale. I stared at the people's legs. Gimli was sitting down, somewhere on his seventh of eighth ale, and Legolas was standing next to the table, the alcohol not even affecting him yet. Bonnie and Nick stood next to the table, stomping their feet and cheering Legolas and Gimli on. Aragorn had wandered away from the table to have a conversation with Gandalf. The two of them were watching Merry and Pippin dance on top of a table, singing a song about _The Green Dragon_. Eowyn was talking to her uncle, a slow, sad smile on her fair face. Some riders were laughing and jeering. Another couple noble women carried on conversations in muted voices. The hall was filled with laughter and merriment, but, for the first time, I felt the tinge of sorrow mixed in with the mirth.

Eomer, Taysend, and Gaenry exchanged nervous glances. Then, the three of them sat down on the floor next to me. They mimicked me: crossing their legs and sipping their ale. Their faces betrayed none of their emotions. They could have spent a week in bed and were only just waking up from their slumber, or they could have spent the week playing games in the schoolyard with the child. I could not tell that they had just spent the last three days in a brutal battle with orcs. It was not there. They seemed almost happy.

"Men are born to live and to die," said Taysend.

"That is a sad existence," said Eomer.

"And yet, it is what we are."

"You do not know that that is the reason for which we are born," said Gaenry. "Perhaps there is something that comes after death."

"What do you think comes after death?" I asked.

Gaenry shook his head and had a sip of his ale.

People kept shooting us curious glances. They did not understand what we were doing, and therefore it made them uncomfortable. Nick and Bonnie debated whether they should join us. Bonnie made a movement to, but Nick stopped her. There are some things she is not a part of.

"There must be something else," I said. "What a sad thing. To be born and to die in such a short amount of time."

"I think there must be happiness," said Eomer suddenly. "Somewhere where war does not touch you, where loss and misery are but things you speak of as memories. Perhaps you can only be truly be happy when you die."

"That is a sad thing," said Gaenry.

"It would be a happy thing," said Taysend. He took a sip of his beer. "Because then you would have infinitely more time to be happy while you would only have a limited time to be unhappy."

Gaenry nodded. "I want to ride a horse. A white hors through the grass field. Like the wind, he would gallop. Easy. Calm. I wouldn't be going anywhere—just forward. Or maybe backward. Wherever the horse wanted to go, really."

Eomer smiled and patted Gaenry on the back.

Some drunken men broke into song. It was a bawdy song about women bathing. Some of the noble ladies looked uncomfortable, but they did not speak a word against it.

"I don't understand why I can Skip. What's the point? I try to save someone and I just screw up the entire world. Am I just supposed to sit here and watch this happen? Am I supposed to watch people die and do nothing about it? Why?" I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I opened them. "Wherever I end up—whether it be six feet under the ground or in some field—I don't know, but I want to stay there. None of this Skipping here or there. I will be grounded in one place and one time. And no one will die—mainly because they'll already be dead. And we'll all just hang out, drinking together, laughing together, enjoying the afterlife together. Yeah. That'd be best."

"It would be nice if the afterlife was simple," said Eomer.

The hall was bathed in a golden light. The fireplaces were filled with life as orange flames danced in the hearth. People roared with laughter. Everything seemed so alive, so golden.

"Gold has never seemed so cruel," I said.

"I will miss Dorthin," said Gaenry. "Who will try to introduce me to every pretty woman in the tavern now?"

"Who will yell at the squires for not caring for their horses properly," said Taysend.

"Dorthin did love those horses," said Eomer.

"As does every man of Rohan." Taysend took a sip of his ale. "Dorthin was truly a man of Rohan."

"Who will share psychic conversations with me now?" I asked, sniffling.

"Those conversations were all in your head," said Taysend.

"I bet Dorthin is getting drunk in a tavern of pretty women," said Gaenry.

"Oh, he's probably really drunk," I said. "Like flat out drunk. And practicing on his 'your mother' insults for when we all meet up again in the afterlife. And we'll drink together and insult each other and it will be the best damn party of our lives."

"Even though we will be dead?" asked Gaenry.

"Speaking of dead," said Eomer. He back was stretched as he tried to peer over the table stacked high with empty beer mugs. "Lord Aragorn has taken up fancy the habit of courting my sister."

"What?" I cried. "No friggin' way! He's engaged! Eowyn totally has a crush on him though!" I tried to locate Aragorn and Eowyn on the other side of the room, but they were no where to be found. "I say we conclude this depressing meeting and go watch Eowyn try to flirt with an oblivious Aragorn!"

"Agreed."

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**A/N: RIP Dorthin. You were a good OC whose name I came up with off the top of my head. **

**Review please.. for Dorthin? **


	46. Failed Dating Life The Sequel

**XLVI: Failed Dating Life The Sequel**

I don't know if Eowyn knew that Aragorn was betrothed to Arwen or not, but either way, she tried her best to flirt. Aragorn seemed pretty oblivious to the whole thing, talking to her as if she were just another noble woman come to talk to him about something as fair as the weather. Eowyn kept blushing and stammering and Aragorn plodded along with the conversation out of obligation and courtesy. It was one of the most amusing things I have ever seen. At one point, Eowyn mentioned that her uncle kept searching for marriage proposals for her, and Aragorn said that Theoden was a just and wise king who would find someone noble and lordly for Eowyn to wed. Could two more oblivious people exist in this world?

Legolas and Gimli's drinking competition came to an end somewhere near twenty ales when Gimli blurted something about hairy women and then passed out on the floor. Legolas stood there for a moment and then stared at his right hand.

"I feel a tingling sensation in the tips of my fingers," he said. "I think it is affecting me!"

…Stupid pretty boy elf.

At one point, Bonnie got really wasted and started tying to pick fights with everyone in sight. Kind of a bad idea since the majority of the people in the room were riders of Rohan. I'm pretty sure Bonnie woke up unexplained bruises the next morning—unexplained because she couldn't remember a _thing_ from the night before. Though, I have to admit it was really funny to watch Bonnie go up to random strangers and say, "Whatcoo lookin' at? Huh? You got a problem? I got a problem—you. And your stupid beard. What kind of beard is that? It looks like sumthun crawled onto your chin and _died_."

According to Legolas, she had been this way whenever she got drunk amongst the elves. Thranduil had found her most amusing and kept her around for that reason. Except one night, Drunk-Bonnie made the mistake of insulting Thranduil (she couldn't tell the difference between him and his moose). So, Thranduil banned her from drinking for awhile.

Oh! And then, Merry and Pippin thought it would be a good idea to teach me some hobbit dances (since I was almost short enough to be a hobbit—Don't listen to them, a foot is still a big height difference!). That might have been one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. I'm a clumsy girl. I tripped over the still unconscious Gimli and knocked over Gandalf. I was sent flying, head first, across the room and tackled Aragorn (interrupting his conversation with Eowyn, so that might not have been a bad thing). Eomer, Taysend, and Gaenry stood the side, roaring with laughter at my misfortunes.

Eventually, the night of celebration and sorrow came to an end. We slept on the floor of the hall that night because there was not room enough in Edoras to house us. So, most of us slept in the hall. Thankfully, Theoden took pity on us females and we slept n a separate room—on actual beds. The men had to sleep on the floor. I laughed at Eomer. It was great.

I don't remember what I dreamed about that night. I think it was a good dream. Something with monkeys and pink elephants and a world where not spiders existed. Maybe I dreamed of the afterlife, because Boromir was there. And Dorthin. Everyone was there. Legolas was stepped on by the pink elephant. He was squahed as flat as a pancake. But then he sprung back to normal size. Gimli and I were disappointed. We had wanted elfcake for breakfast. Kili said that was for the best though, because the elf probably had parasites.

Someone screamed.

My eyes snapped open an I say bolt-upright in my bed, gasping.

"What was that?" Eowyn had leapt from her bed and was holding a sword in her right hand.

Another scream.

Eowyn started towards the source of the noise.

"Why would you go that way" I cried. "Run the opposite direction!"

"Come on," said Bonnie. She jumped from her own bed and chased after Eowyn.

I groaned and then followed them, making sure I took the Sword Breaker with me.

Eowyn pushed open the door to the main hall where all the men were sleeping. We stepped inside—it was chaos in there. Some of the men were sitting up, looking about wildly, still hung-over from the night before. Some of the men were running around the room, trying to figure out what to do. People were shouting and yelling and someone kept on screaming.

Pippin sat on the floor, his pale hands clutching a glowing, black stone. The stone was a perfect sphere. It was pitch black except that somewhere in its depths a fiery red light glowed, ever burning. Pippin's eyes had rolled back into his head, showing only the whites, and his lips were open in an endless scream.

"Pippin!" I cried.

"Ana! Bonnie!" Nick leapt across the room to join us. He grabbed a hold of our wrists. "Look out!"

Gandalf grasped Pippin by the shoulder and the hobbit dropped the orb.

"The Palantir!" cried Legolas.

The black orb rolled across the floor of the hall. A deep rumbling seemed to fill the room. The sound of the Palantir rolling grew louder and louder and the rest of the noises in the room—the screaming, the shouting, the voices—dimmed into silence. I could not tear my eyes away from the orb.

It was black. And yet it seemed to be made of a thousand different colors.

Nick tried to move me out of the way, but I remained rooted to the ground.

The Palantir was moving towards me. With every second it rolled closer and closer.

Aragorn tried to stop it, but he missed. The orb kept rolling. I took a step back.

From the darkness, a fiery eye opened.

I Skipped.

A shattering gasp rose in my throat and I knelt down on the sidewalk. The deep rumble of car engines passed by—growing louder and then quieter as they went, repeated endlessly. A couple people on the sidewalk stared at us in surprise. They exchanged whispered disapprovals and waked a little faster. Nick released my wrist and stood beside me, taking deep breaths. Bonnie seemed more confused than anything else. She looked left and then right, and then left again.

"What was that?" she asked.

"We Skipped," said Nick. "It tends to happen."

"Not that," said Bonnie. "The stone ball thing. What _was_ that?"

"Legolas called it the Palantir," said Nick. "No idea what that means."

Bonnie and Nick turned to me. I was still crouched down on the ground, taking short, gasping breaths. I tried to calm my racing heart, but the image of the burning eye was still embedded in my mind. What _was_ that? I had no idea. It wasn't good. Or maybe it had originally been good, but had now become corrupted.

"Ana?" asked Nick.

"Yeah?" I stood upright and grinned at Nick. "That was wild, huh? Everyone was freaking out—I thought somebody had _died_. Turns out it was just a rolling rock. What did Legolas call it? The Planter? It didn't look like a plant."

Nick and Bonnie stared at me. For a moment, they deliberated on whether I was serious or not.

"The Palantir," said Nick. "Jeez girl, get your words right."

"Sounds stupid," I said. "Sounds elvish."

"Elves aren't as stupid as you think they are," said Bonnie. "They're actually really fun…"

"Nope." I put a hand in front of Bonnie's face to stop her from talking. "I will not have such blasphemy spoken in my presence."

"Elves are—"

"No."

"Elves—"

"No."

"But elves—"

"No."

"El—"

"No."

Bonnie whacked me over the back of the head.

* * *

"It's a journey, Ana! It's a journey! You don't get in shape in just one work out! It takes hundreds of works outs! Day after day after day after day! You have to be committed! Are you committed!?"

I almost dropped the five pound weight. "Ah…"

"I said—_are you committed, Ana_!?"

"I guess so…" The weight was really heavy. I know it was just five pounds, but, _man_, that weight was heavy, My arms felt like led. My legs felt like sausages. My head was pounding. I was coated in sweat. I felt gross. I felt unfit. And I did _not_ want to be there.

"What kind of answer is that? I am asking you a question, Ana! You came to me—desperate and unfit. You came to me and _begged_ me to train you—and now you cannot even answer a simple question. I say—_ARE YOU COMMITTED, ANA_!"

I took a deep breath. "Yes!"

"Good. Now take a break."

I dropped the weight and collapsed on the mat beside it. Oh my God, I was unfit.

I had not gone to Middle Earth in three weeks. I'd spent those three weeks working my new job (an ice cream scooper) and working out at the gym. The next time I was attacked by orcs or a balrog or wargs, I would be able to run as well as any dwarf. Of course, I forgot that joining and gym and hiring a trainer would actual involve _effort_.

Trainer Mike was a demon dressed in basketball shorts and an overly large t-shirt. I swear there were horns somewhere on his shiny, bald head. He stood somewhere over six foot (not as tall as Eomer, but he was getting pretty damn close) and he was beefy. He had biceps the size of my head! (Warning: I might be prone to a _little_ exaggeration.)

So, I was lying on the floor of the gym, groaning in agony. My muscles were too sore to move. I was thirsty, but with the thirst-to-pain ratio, moving to get water wasn't worth the pain it caused.

The worst part was that my workouts were in plain view of the gym. The fit people who ran on treadmills and lifted weights could see all my humiliating unfitness. Amongst the clanking metal workout apparatus and sweaty, healthy people, Trainer Mike would have me do pushups (I can do a whole successful five pushups per minute) and sit ups (twenty per minute) and run a mile on the tread mill (I was up to a whole nine minute mile on that thing) and do sprinted (think of turtle trying to run). It was a humiliating experience.

"Do you need help?"

I rolled over onto my back and stared up. A guy was standing over me. And not just any guy—an incredibly hot guy. The kind of guy with tanned skin, short black hair, big brown eyes, an easy smile, and perfect dimples—not to mention his body was well sculpted. Can I just say: Hammana hammana hammana yumyum hammana hammana.

"Hi," I said. "My name is Ana Marie Stonbit. Age twenty-two. Birthday October 21st. Star sign Libra. Born in Cleveland, Ohio. Hair color blond. Eye color blue. Height four-foot-ten. Life goal to settle down and never move. Favorite color is blue. Least favorite color olive. I like coffee, monkeys, dwarves, and sappy romance movies. I dislike graveyards, high heels, spaghetti, elves, and horror movies. I'm terrified of spiders, heights, skeletons, ants, insects, and horses. I like long walks on the beach, romantic dinners, and all other cheesy romantic gestures found in chick flicks. Currently single. Feel free to stalk me."

The guy stared at me for a good minute before he turned around and walked away.

"Wait!" I cried. I tried to get up, but my muscles hurt so much that my limbs just flailed about uselessly. Eventually, I gave up and just lay there, mourning over my inability to attract me. This is like Ana's Failed Dating Life The Sequel. Why!? Why must this happen to me!? I'm a mildly pretty young woman with a fun personality! Why aren't men attracted to me? Why!? I just want to be loved!

You.

Don't. Say. Anything.

Nope! Not a word. If you say anything, I will devour your soul. I mean it. I'm watching you…

…

Good.

Anyway, while I was lying on the blue mat having a pity party, Trainer Mike returned for Part Two of my workout.

"Ana! Ana!" shouted Trainer Mike. "Get on your feet! Don't just lie there like a useless lump! I can see you gaining weight as you lie there! All our hard work done! Over! Gone! You'll be bullied in PE for the rest of your life and nothing will change that!"

"I was never bullied in PE," I said.

"I said—_Get up_!"

At that time, I was still physically incapable of standing up. So, I did the one logical thing, I started crying. (Yes, that is the logical solution. How? Just listen and you'll see.)

"Don't give me that crap," roared Trainer Mike. "Crying is for the weak!"

"T-T-T-Trainer Mike!" I choked through my sobs. "My life is such a mess right now!"

Trainer Mike seemed to calm down a little. He sat down on the mat next to me. "How can I help you. Ana? I am your trainer, and some times, I must be tough on you. It's what you need to motivate you into becoming a healthy young woman. But I am also your confidant. I am here to be your crutch. When life knocks you down, you only need to call 'Trainer Mike!' and I will be at your side, ready to help you stand up again. Tell me your problems, Ana, and we will work them out together—as a team!"

(I told you—crying always works. And, yes, this guy is for real.)

"Trainer Mike," I said, still sniffling. "My life is so messed up. I move between two worlds—here and some mythical fantasy place where dragons are real and a war is going on. I am chased by evil creatures who want to kill me and the only way to survive is to depend on dwarves to rescue me and hope I Skip at the right time. I have no one reality and I have to watch my friends die, unable to save them without screwing up their world. In short, my life is fucked up."

Trainer Mike stared at me.

"Ana?"

"Yes?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You're not pulling my leg?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Trainer Mike took a deep breath. "I am your trainer and your crutch. Your pain is my pain. We will get through this together, Ana. First things first, there are places for people like you. Your problem is temporary. With the proper treatment and proper care, your problem can be fixed. Now, I'm not trying to send you away or force you into anything, I simply want you to take the best course of action."

"Trainer Mike."

"Do not get angry. I only have your best interests at heart."

"Trainer Mike."

"I will help you on this journey every step of the way. We're in this together."

"Trainer Mike."

"I'm glad you could come to me with this important matter. The bond we share is just as important to me as it is to you."

"Trainer Mike."

"Yes?"

"I'm kidding."

Trainer Mike stared at me. "What?"

"I'm kidding. The only problem is that my love life sucks."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely?"

"Yes."

Trainer Mike breathed a sigh of relief and wiped a bead of sweat from his bald head. "That's great news. Great news. Not the part about your love life, the part about you being insane. I really thought I would have to commit you to the asylum. Phew. Scary thought there. But we're okay. It's just your love life. I mean, not 'just'. Your love life is obviously very important. I'm here for you. You have to understand that. Whether you're single or insane, I'm here. But you're not insane. So we're okay. Okay? This isn't working. I'm trying my best. Your love life. I'm your crutch. I'll help you stand up again. You don't want to be single. And you're not insane. That's good. It's easier for you to find a boyfriend when you're not insane Not that being insane is a bad thing. I'm just saying. You're not insane. You can always date me if you really can't find a boyfriend. I'm a nice guy to date. As long as you're not insane."

I think my jaw was somewhere around floor level about halfway through Trainer Mike's speech. He might just be even crazier than me. And that's saying something.

"You want more than dating? I mean, I'm just ready for dating. But if you're sanity is on the line, I can propose. Marriage. Wedding. I like you well enough. We could get married. You'll have to wait for me to buy the ring. Don't go insane before then. Are you a diamond girl?"

"Trainer Mike," I said. "Calm down."

He took deep breaths.

"I'm not going insane. You're not going to go insane. We're all sane."

Trainer Mike nodded. "Of course. We're all normal."

I Skipped.

* * *

**A/N: We all need a Trainer Mike to help us stay sane. Please review for the sake of Trainer Mike. **

**Please? **


	47. Party It Up Hobbit Style

**XLVII: Party It Up Hobbit Style**

I think this can go in the category of one of the most awkward Skips of my life. Firstly, I'm pretty sure I scarred Trainer Mike for life (I'm sorry, Trainer Mike, you were an inspiration to us all). Secondly, I had been working out, which meant I Skipped in my sweaty gym clothes. My sweaty gym clothes consisted of black Nike shorts, a purple sports bra and white sneakers. And that's about it.

The people of Middle Earth were not fans of that outfit.

Music filled the air. It was a gay little tune—upbeat and cheerful. It was the kind of lighthearted music that made you want to dance. (Well, maybe not you, but you get the point.) I was standing in the middle of a party. The sky was dark, but candles and lanterns lit the grassy pavilion with a warm, sunny light. Little hobbits were chatting, dancing, eating, listening, and smiling. The party was so alive. And so content. Some hobbit children were sitting on the ground, listening excitedly as an elderly hobbit told them stories with wild hand gestures. Some full-grown hobbit men were chugging down ales as though their lives depended on it. One spat up his beer all over the pretty waitress and his friends guffawed at the sight. The band had struck up a quicker tune, the flutist tapped his foot in time to the beat. The hobbits dancing twirled faster and stomped their feet enthusiastically. Spectators clapped there hand, cheering the couples on. A firework exploded—brilliant silver against the black sky. The hobbits cheered as fluttering lights fell down, disappearing just above the hobbits' heads. All eyes turned to the tall man with a grizzled gray beard and a pointy hat.

"Gandalf!" I cried.

The hobbits eyed me suspiciously. Can't say I blame them. Hobbits don't like unusually things. And, um, dressed in gym clothes with my stomach exposed, I don't think they liked that very much…

"Gandalf!" I passed through the crowd of hobbits and managed to reach the wizard's side. I grinned up at him. "Man, I haven't seen you in _ages_."

Gandalf turned his gray eyes to me. He paused. "You do have a habit of turning up in the most inappropriate way."

"I take it you're happy to see me too."

"There are just some aspects of people that you cannot change," said Gandalf. "It is what makes us so interesting."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

Gandalf sighed. "It is a—you require a change of clothes 'thing'."

I glanced down at my sports bra. "And perhaps a bath too."

Gandalf found a pretty hobbit woman with curly blond locks and a warm smile. Her name was Rosie Cotton and Gandalf knew her fairly well. She brought b back to her family's hobbit hole where I was permitted to have a quick bath and change into what clothes they could find for me. Thank God, I'm short. If I had been a normal sized girl, nothing in Hobbiton would have fit me. But I was just small enough that I could pass off wearing one of Rosie's dressed and it only looked a little bit awkward on me.

"You are the strangest girl I have seen," said Rosie, laughing at the too-small dark green dress. She sat in a rocking chair, covered with a pink and green patchwork quilt. She sat next to an empty fireplace.

"I get that a lot," I said, placing my sweaty gym clothes next to the fireplace. "I can't get rid of it. It's like this parasite that latched onto my brain when I was a child and has spent the past couple decades sucking the normality out of me until all that was left was this short, odd girl that thinks monkeys are the epitome of awesome sauce."

Rosie started at me for a minute. Her pink lips were open slightly and her eyebrows were narrowed as she thought hard. Then, suddenly, as if she had abruptly realized something, her face stretched into a bright smile. "You are adorable."

I blinked and then flung my arms around her neck in a hug. "Oh my God! You're the first person in Middle Earth to compliment my appearance! The stupid elves laugh at me! The men like to tease me! The dwarves all call me ugly and beardless! I can't help it that I'm human! I'd grow a beard if I could! Sometimes I wonder if I should buy fake facial hair to make them happy! But then here you are! So sweet and adorable and wonderful and you call me cute! Ah! I love you!"

I think I permanently scared Rosie.

We returned to the party and almost immediately, a hobbit with curly black hair whipped Rosie up into a dance. She was a whirlwind of skirts and smiles. I watched her for a few minutes, laughing as she laughed. I still received a few odd glances from other hobbits. I made my way through the crowds towards the temporary bar that had been set up by the owners of the Green Dragon (the local tavern). They had moved several wooden tables out into the pavilion and had brought kegs of ale. The hobbits who were of age were lined up, eagerly anticipating full mugs of the frothing drink.

Soon enough, I had my own pint of ale, which I cheerfully worked my way through.

"Is this your first time tasting the famous Green Dragon's ale?"

"It's pretty good," I said, staring at the brown liquid, sloshing around in my mug. "But I prefer Gondor's drinks. They _know_ how to make good alcohol."

"Gondor?"

I turned to see what hobbit had plucked up the courage and, for the sake of his curiosity, started a conversation with me. I saw big blue eyes and curly brown hair.

"Frodo!" I cried.

Frodo blinked, quite taken aback. "Have I met you before?"

"Er…" (We'll meet in the future.) "…Bilbo has told me so much about you!"

"Did he?" Frodo seemed slightly pleased by this and slightly confused. "I have not seen you in Bag End before."

"I, um, come and go."

Frodo's eyes narrowed. He looked over me, taking in my wavy, blond hair, my wide, blue eyes, my small stature, my too-short dress and my tennis shoes.

"Are you…" Frodo hesitated. "Are you Ana?"

I almost dropped my ale. The mug slipped through my fingers and I managed to catch it, but not before it dumped a good amount of ale down Frodo's shirt.

"Oh frig," I said. "That's not supposed to happen. I probably just destroyed someone's future with that."

Frodo frowned. "I am not sure I follow your meaning."

"Don't worry," I said. I licked the ale spilling over the side of my mug. When I noticed that Frodo was looking at me oddly, I stopped and grinned. "I'm Ana, though. I'm surprised Bilbo told you about me."

"He likes to tell stories about his adventures."

I laughed. "Good old, Bilbo. What does he say about me?"

Frodo pursed his lips as he tried to recall. "He says that you often appear out of thin air and begin to cry and hug everyone, professing love."

I sighed. "Well, yeah, I do that a lot, I guess… Is that really the only thing he remembers about me?"

"He talks about you during the Battle of Five Armies and Thorin's—"

"Alright!" I cried. "We're stopping there. Man, I haven't seen Bilbo in so long! What's that guy up to? He must be a wrinkly old coot now?" I paused and stared at Frodo. "This is how we met for the first time, huh? But you knew that earlier. And how does Bilbo what happens in the Battle of Five Armies? I haven't been there yet. Or… I don't know! You hobbits give me a headache! One moment, I'm like—ah, everything's okay. I'm alright—and then next, I'm like—what is going on _here_!? You hobbits! It's because you're so little. I've never seen anyone littler than me before—except for hobbits. And some dwarves. But it's not natural. I should be the littlest thing around. But nooooo, hobbits prove me wrong every time."

Frodo stared at me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm just going to walk away right now."

"Um…" Frodo moved to stop me, but I had already fled.

I made my way through the crowd of dancing hobbits. I didn't make it far as Rosie grabbed my arm and pulled me into the ring of dancing hobbits. Oh my God! It was one of the scariest things I have done to date—I don't know how to dance! And then these hobbits all knew this folk dance. They're prancing around like there's no problem. And then, you had me. And I was just—_What is going on here_!? There's some clapping and some stomping and some twirling. And then this hobbit moved here and this hobbit moved there and someone pushed to me to the other side of the ring because I didn't know where to go. So not fun! And then, the music changed and the hobbits moved into couples, spinning and waltzing around the dancing floor. One tall hobbit with curly ginger hair grabbed my hands and pulled me into the twirling dance. I screamed and he let go of me, upset by my repulsion (I really just didn't know what was going on—it's called uncoordinated. I'm sorry, Mr. Hobbit!).

I stepped away from the dance floor, trying to avoid being swept up into another awkward, bumbling dance. Music blasted, hobbits laughed, people cheered, fireworks boomed—I backed into a hobbit.

"Sorry!"

"Watch it!"

"Did your mother ever teach you manners!?" I cried.

The hobbit glowered at me, his brown eyes sharp. "You can—"

—Skip.

I was face to face with a black shadow. No. Not a shadow. A hooded figure. He was huge, clad only billowing black robes. The sight of him was enough to send chills down my spine. The atmosphere had changed so rapidly. One moment, I was in the middle of a celebration, the next I was standing in the ruins of a watch tower. A cracked stone floor and carved pillars reaching up towards the exposed sky. The night was black, and brought with it the biting wind. The only light was the crescent moon that dimly illuminated the shadows that surrounded me. There was no just one cloaked figure, but several. Or perhaps there was just one—and the rest were reflections. I could be going insane—that was possible too, right?

The figures drew long, thin blades—the metal glinted dangerously in the moonlight.

Yep. I really hope I was going insane.

"Ana!"

I spun around. Four little hobbits were standing behind me. Frodo stood in the middle. He clutched the blade between his trembling hands. Sam stood to the right Frodo. He couldn't even hold his sword properly. Merry was beside Sam. His face was a shadow of pure horror. He had turned a vivid shade of white. Pippin was on the other side of Frodo. He had not even drawn his sword. It was only when he saw that all the other hobbits were prepared to fight that he drew his blade. All four of them were staring at me. They did not seem capable of speech right then and their mouths formed over soundless words.

"Ana," said Frodo, managing to regain some kind of sense. "What are you _doing _here?"

I sighed. "You would think that by now we would have some kind of understanding. I come and go at really random times."

Frodo frowned. "Well, yes, but you have exceedingly terrible timing."

"Yeah, I can't help that."

"Ana!" cried Merry. "Look out!"

I spun around just in time to see the demonic blade slicing through the air, prepared to end my existence. I screamed and leapt backwards, narrowing avoiding the sword. I tripped over a piece of rock debris and went crashing down on the cracked stone floor. My hands smashed against the ground. I howled. Pain shot through my arms, prickling and stinging.

"Ana!"

The shadow came for another attack. I scampered across the ground, crawling towards the hobbits.

The sword came down.

I rolled onto my back and swung my legs into the air. My foot came in contact with the shadow's hand. He dropped the sword and it went flying to the other side of the ruins.

"Ah-ha!" I cried, leaping to my feet. "I did something! I did something! Did you see that? I actually did something!"

"Ana!" cried Frodo. "Do not celebrate! Run!"

Another shadow stepped forward. He was not the mirror reflection of his companions, but a solid, living being with a sword of his own.

"Oh," I said, waving my hand. "We don't need to worry about that. I can handle him."

"Ana!" cried Merry.

"Yes?" I smiled.

"She is insane," said Sam. "She has lost her marbles. They have just rolled right out of her ear. I do not think we can find them again."

The shadow lifted his sword.

"Run!" cried Merry. "Flee!"

"Don't worry," I said. "I have the Sword Br—" Oh wait. No, I didn't. I didn't have the Sword Breaker when I Skipped. Which meant I was weaponless. Oh shit. Now what was I going to do?

"Crazy girl!" cried Sam. "Get away!"

The shadow swung his sword.

I fell over.

By some miracle, I was still alive. I sat on the ground, gasping for breath. "That was a close one."

The shadow sliced off my head.

Or, he tried to. I Skipped before the sword made contact.

I'm pro like that.

* * *

**A/N: Me reason for not updating - it's Mardi Gras in New Orleans. That explains everything.**

**Please review!**


	48. The Girl Who Cannot Die

**AN: So my friend and I were flipping through the bad fanfiction pages for the fun of it and we made a list of all the _really_ bad things on there. So, I decided to borrow. And that's why this chapter gets REALLY weird.**

**Please review.**

* * *

**XLVIII: The Girl Who Cannot Die**

I was sitting on the gym mat, my too-short blue dress fanned out on the mat and my legs folded neatly beneath me. There was a heavy thud as someone dropped their weights on the floor. A woman screamed. Everyone had stopped their workouts and were staring at me. I glanced around. I'd done it again.

"Hi," I said, waving nervously.

"Oh my God! It's her! It's the vanishing girl!"

I spun around to see Trainer Mike in the far corner of the room. His bald head was covered in a thin layer of sweat and his face was pure white. He was pointing at me wildly, his finger shaking. Two cops followed Trainer Mike's direction. They stared at me, their brows knitted together in confusion.

"It's, um, not what it seems," I said, getting to my feet and brushing some dirt off my dress.

"Not what it seems?" asked one of the cops.

"It's just one big misunderstanding," I said.

"I'm not insane!" cried Trainer Mike. "I'm not insane! Don't you dare tell them that I'm insane!"

"You're not insane!" I said quickly. "You're a great guy, Trainer Mike. A great guy—if not a little over enthusiastic about everything. You're normal. You're normal. It's just me who's abnormal. You see…" I hesitated. "I am a witch."

Dead silence filled the room.

"Bullshit," said one of the cops.

"I can apparate," I said. "Only I'm fairly new at this whole apparating thing, so I can't always control when I disappear and reappear. Don't worry. It's nothing out of the ordinary. Calm down. Just keep going about your business and we'll keep this between ourselves."

"What is she talking about?" asked one short, muscular man.

"Haven't you ever seen Harry Potter!? I cried.

They were all staring at me.

"Yeah…" I inched towards the door. "I'm just going to go now." A little closer. "It was nice meeting you all." I turned and fled.

* * *

"…And then he said—_that's not a man_!"

I choked on my coffee. Bonnie slammed the palm of her hand repeatedly on the countertop, trembling with mad laughter. Karen laughed and shook her head.

"The waitress is here," said Nick.

We were sitting in a booth at IHOP. The waitress had just arrived with our meals. Nick and Karen sat on one side of the booth; Nick's right shoulder rested against the wall as he accepted his plate of waffles. Karen's meal had not come out yet and her arms were crossed as she glowered at the waitress. Bonnie was cheerfully cut her banana caramel pancakes as the waitress departed to get Karen's meal.

I prodded my stuffed French toast. "It's not very stuffed."

"Eat your food and be quiet," said Bonnie. "You're ruining my happiness."

"But they said it was stuffed French toast," I said. "Why is there not sweet cream filling oozing out of the sides of my French toast?"

"You're too picky about your breakfast foods," said Nick. "Just put it in your mouth and quit complaining."

"You put it in your mouth," I said.

Nick leaned over and shoved his fork into the triangular French toast. He picked it up and moved it to his plate. "Don't mind if I do."

"Thief!" I cried. I grabbed my fork and tried to stab his hand with it.

"I am just peacefully eating my pancakes," said Bonnie. "I have nothing to do with this."

"I want my pancakes," said Karen. "Is it _that_ hard to make traditional pancakes in maple syrup? Do I have to have some crazy order with raspberries and strawberries and boysenberries for my order to come out on time?"

"You can have Ana's stuffed French toast if it makes you feel any better, honey," said Nick.

"If you dare give her my food I will dish out your eyeballs with a spoon," I growled.

"So," said Nick, handing me back the stuffed French toast (though it was now tattered thanks to the damage done by Nick's fork.) "You drove Trainer Mike insane."

"It wasn't on purpose!" I cried. "We were getting along so well—he was even helping me find my inner sanity! And then, Skip—he's lost his marbles for good."

"Did you really tell them that you're a witch?" asked Karen.

I nodded gloomily. "It was the best excuse I could think of."

"You're losing your touch," said Bonnie.

"She had a touch?" asked Nick.

"This conversation is getting weirder by the second," I said. "Why don't we talk about something normal—so, Karen, how's life?"

"Good?"

"Good to know. Anything interesting?"

"My food hasn't arrived yet."

"That's awful."

"Tell that to my stomach."

A dull silence settled over the table, interrupted only by the sound of Nick chomping on his waffles and Bonnie's fork scraping against her plate.

"I discovered this amazing band the other day," I said.

"Oh?"

The waitress arrived with Karen's pancakes. She accepted them with a sharp glare at the waitress. Then, she settled down and began devouring her pancakes one large bite at a time.

"They're called Frazel and Loganberry," I said. "They're almost as good as that band, Degrees of Freedom—"

"_What_?" Bonnie almost choked on her pancake. "_Frazel_ and _Loganberry_?"

"Yeah," I said. "They're a couple who make music together. They named their band with their petnames for each other—isn't it cute?"

"Poor Ana," said Bonnie. "She has been so love deprived lately that she depends on other people's pathetic and cheesy romances to get through the day. Ana, darling, Frazel and Loganberry are not cute names."

"Shut up. You're one to talk. We all know about your little Legomance going on."

"Legomance?" asked Karen.

"Legolas and I are purely friends," said Bonnie.

"She's just upset because it's onesided," I told Karen.

"Yes," said Karen. "But am I the only one who's confused by the name Legomance?"

Nick raised his fork into the air and waved it around. "Am I the only confused by the names Frazel and Loganberry. I mean, which one is the guy and which one is the girl?"

"That's for you to figure out," I said.

"Who says one's a girl?" asked Bonnie.

"Oooh," said Nick, nodding. "It's a Fraberriception."

"A what?"

"He's speaking gibberish again," said Bonnie.

"So wait," said Nick. "I don't care about Frabarrimance—I want to know about Thornamance."

"What are you _talking_ about?" asked Bonnie.

"Ignore him," said Karen between bites of pancake. "That's what I do when he gets on these insane tangents."

"Thornamance," said Nick, waving his fork at me. "Taken from the words Thorna and romance. Thorna taken from the words Thorin and Ana. Meaning that I ship Ana and Thorin together so damn much!"

I shoveled as much French toast in my mouth as I could. "Oh mfffook," I said through the food in my mouth. "Thermmmff imf the stuffimmm."

"What?"

I swallowed. "I found the sweet cream stuffing."

"That's good to know," said Karen. "I was so worried for your stuffed French toast."

"Don't get off topic," said Nick. "We were talking about love. The ultimate love. Shared by Ana and Thorin. Their love surpasses all love. It is the ultimate love decided by the ultimate destiny. It is the most ultimate of all ultimates. So ultimate that the ultimatum itself must bow before such ultimateness. How can one compete with such ultimateness? The answer is simple—one cannot! It is too ultimate. That is how ultimate the ultimate love between Ana and Thorin is—ultimate!"

I stared at Nick.

"Alright," I said. "That's it, I'm leaving."

I stood up and started to move out of the booth.

"Wait!" cried Nick. "You can't leave yet! I still have to convince you of your ultimate love!"

"Nope, nope, I'm leaving right now." I was practically crawling over Bonnie's lap, trying to escape from the booth.

"Ana! Ultimate!"

"_I cannot take this abuse_!"

Some little kid who was sitting on the other side of the room pointed at us and said in a high-pitched voice, "Look, Mommy! There are some clowns in IHOP." He paused and then frowned. "But why aren't they wearing make-up? Mommy! Clowns should always wear make-up!"

Bonnie pushed me off her lap and I landed face-first on the floor.

"Ow!" I sat up and rubbed my aching nose. "Was that really necessary?"

Nick cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered loudly. "The ultimate love."

I got up and started walking to the exit.

"Didn't we give you a ride here?" asked Karen.

"The ultimate love…" said Nick.

"I'll walk."

"That's a long way."

"I'll give you a ride," said Bonnie, taking the final bite of her pancakes. "I need to go anyways. My parents are arriving at the airport soon and I need to get gas before I pick them up."

"Aw, Katilocks and Caitlo!" I cried, clapping my hands together. "Do I get to see them? We haven't had brunch in so long! I do miss them!

"No way in hell," said Bonnie.

"Who are Katilocks and Caitlo?" asked Karen.

"Bonnie's parents," said Nick. "Their actual names are Kato and Caitlyn."

"But Katilocks and Caitlo are so much cuter!" I cried.

"Are you coming or not?" asked Bonnie, getting up from her seat. "Because I can always leave you here with Nick and his ultimate pain-in-the-ass."

"I'm coming!"

We said our good-byes to Nick and Karen before heading outside to Bonnie's truck. Her truck is called the Green Monster. I'm not kidding. It's a massive, dark green truck that she drives everywhere and, unless she parks perfectly, takes up two parking spaces. Bonnie hopped into her truck and I followed suit. Only my hopping was a lot less graceful. Her truck is a good few feet off the ground. I kind of lay on the seat and wriggled my way into the truck.

"You look like a dying fish," said Bonnie as I managed to settle into my seat.

"Just drive," I said. "I want to get as far away from Nick and his ultimate love as fast as I can."

"You should just Skip."

"It doesn't work like that."

"You could move across country." Bonnie revved the engine of her truck and shifted into reverse.

"That's it!" I slapped my knee. "I'll change my name to Bina Tsinahiga and move to Washington."

Bonnie slammed on the brakes. "Bina Tsinahiga?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Bina Tsinahiga."

"Bina Tsinahiga?"

"Bina Tsinahiga."

"Bina Tsinahiga?"

"Bina Tsinahiga."

"You do really when you say that really fast is sound like your saying penis, right?"

"Okay…Maybe not that name, but I like the changing my name and moving across country."

"You're strange." Bonnie pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main street. "Let me know if you see a Shell gas station."

"Shell?"

"It's the best. You should always buy gas at Shell."

"You're just saying that because Katilocks is a Shell engineer."

"That's just a minor detail."

I drummed my fingers on the car door and watched as a little silver car raced past us. The truck slowed down as we approached a red light. We came to a halt next to the little silver car. (I named the silver car Antia Wyndwake. Because she's a little speed demon, but she can't be called 'Windwake' since that would make her too common. Instead, she shall be Wyndwake and she shall be a little demon of the roads.)

The light turned green and Bonnie moved into the right lane. She turned into the gas station and next to a pump.

"So how's your love life?" I asked.

Bonnie laughed. "Disaster."

"When was your last boyfriend? Was it Mitch or Jaime?"

"Mitch," said Bonnie, opening the car door and hopping out. "That was two years ago."

"Oh."

"It's the red hair," said Bonnie. "Guys take one look at me and go—oh my god, it's a ginger! She has no soul! And they run the opposite direction."

"I blame genetics," I said, nodding.

We stood around the gas pump as the trunk was refilled. Bonnie leaned against the side of the Green Monster, looking rather bored with the whole thing. She was staring off into the distance, maybe at the red and yellow shell that glowed above our heads. Perhaps she was remembering her relationship with Mitch. From what I remember, it had been a disaster. Rumors, gossip, and the internet kind of disaster.

I stood opposite her, hands thrust in the pockets of my black jacket. I scuffed my foot against the ground and then grinned at her.

"Did I ever tell you about Thoreandan the Man Who Gnawed Off A Dragon's Hand?"

Bonnie stared at me blankly.

"Yeah, Dorthin told me this story during a drinking party awhile back. So, there once was a time when the world—and by that, I mean Middle Earth—that was filled with dragons. Over the years, they have been hunted to the point of near extinction—so that only beasts like Smaug remain—but once there was a time when dragons ruled the skies. And one day, a great dragon—by the name of Findecano, at least, I'm pretty sure that was the name. It might have been Findell or Finderfan or Jeffry. I don't remember. But we're going to call him Findecano, because it's an awesome name. So, where was I Oh year, so Findecano decides to settle in Rohan. And he is the plague of the lands. The burned crops, ate villagers, and destroyed the lands. Armies marched against him, but he obliterated them all."

"Sounds dreadful," said Bonnie.

"I know, right? Finally, the king decides to send his son, Prince Thoreandan. And Prince Thoreandan has more sense than all these armies and all these intelligent generals. Prince Thoreandan decides to sneak up on the dragon while the dragon was still sleeping. Ad then, when he gets close enough to the sleeping dragon—Thoreandan gnaws the dragon's hand off. And when the dragon woke up, Findecano was in so much pain that he howled and moaned and flew away in terror of the wild, dragon eating man. So, the dragon fled and the kingdom of Rohan was saved—all thanks to the future king, Thoeandan."

Bonnie stared at me. The pump clicked, but she did not make a move to take it out. She only stared at me.

"That was stupid," said Bonnie.

"I know, right!?" I clapped my hands together excitedly.

Bonnie rolled her eyes and pulled the pump out of the car. "Do you want to go get coffee?"

"Yes! But it's really weird, isn't it?" I said. "How can he gnaw of a dragon's hand Have you ever seen a dragon? No? Well, I have. Smaug's hands are friggin' huge. It would take a year to chewing to gnaw that thing off. And, let's be honest, would I dragon will sleep through you gnawing his hand off? Once you got through the thick layer of scales and actually reached the flesh, if your teeth weren't already ruined, I'm pretty sure the dragon would feel you try to gnaw his hand off. Plus—how are you going to chew the bone? Ew. That's just nasty. You'd be sitting there for well over a year, covered in blood with ruined teeth trying to gnaw of the hand of an already comatose dragon. What. The. Frig."

A man wearing a baseball cap gave me an odd look as he walked by. I smiled and waved.

Bonnie locked her truck and headed for the gas station shop. I followed her, still rambling about Thoreandan. Bonnie did what she did best and ignored me.

The bell tinkled as we stepped inside the gas station. The shopkeeper greeted us, a warm smile on his dark smile. I grinned and waved back. The gas station was reasonably empty. A chubby, middle-aged woman in a blue dress stood by the fridge, considering the drink options. The man in the baseball cap was examining the gum selection by the counter. Two teenage girls were giggling by the Icee machines. A young man in a business suit was chatting with the balding man in charge of the cash register. And that was it.

Bonnie and I headed straight to the coffee machines. I picked out the biggest cup and found the vanilla latte.

"Because you didn't drink enough coffee at IHOP," said Bonnie.

I grinned at her as milky brown coffee poured into my Styrofoam cup. "I wonder how Nick and Karen are enjoying their date."

"They're probably making out in the booth," said Bonnie. She shook her head and put her cup under the mocha tap. "Those poor little kids. They're going to choke on their pancakes watching Nick shove his tongue down Karen's throat."

"Someone's in a grumpy mood," I said. "I thought you liked Karen."

"I do," sad Bonnie. "Nick has found a surprisingly good one."

"Way better than Joanna."

"Going to Goblin Town was a life changing experience for him."

"Maybe he had an epiphany—don't date bitchy girls."

"Halleluiah!"

And then the gun went off.

Just—_bang_—something shattered. The woman by the fridge screamed and dropped to the floor. The teenage girls shrieked and followed suit. They reached for their cellphones, but the man in the baseball cap pointed his gun at them.

"Drop them," he said. 'Or I will blow your heads off."

One of the girls—the one with braids in her hair—threw her cellphone across the floor and buried her face in her hands. "Please don't kill me!"

"I just want the money," said the man. He spun around and pointed his gun at the businessman. "Get down on the floor. Put your hands on your head and get down on the floor!"

The businessman had turned pure white. His legs were shaking violently, knees knocking together, as he sunk to the floor.

"You too." The man in the baseball cap pointed the gun at Bonnie and me.

Bonnie did not hesitate to obey. I didn't move. He was scrawny, the man in the baseball cap was. If he didn't have the gun, he would not have been threatening at all. Even _I_ could have beat him up. And, as Thorin would say, _that_ is impressive. The man was blond, strands of his straw-like hair protruded from underneath his baseball cap. He had green eyes and there was some stubble on his chin. He was jittery. Every time he moved, I thought he was going to snap, like a taught wire that had been cut. He would lash out—guns ablaze and set the whole room on fire.

Oddly enough, I wasn't afraid.

The man was pointing a gun at me. (Guns are these metal weapons that you point at people and pull a trigger and it can be used to hurt them—I forgot, you don't have them here. Good. Don't get them.) So, this man was pointing a gun at me. He was shaking and trembling and quivering and he was obviously at the end of his rope. But I wasn't afraid. No, I was _angry_.

"Who do you think I am?" I asked.

The man blinked. "W-what?"

"_Who do you think I am_? Do you think I have time for your bullshit? Nooooo. I get enough of this in Middle Earth—do you know what it's like to be chased by orcs and balrogs and riders and horses and elves and spiders? It's not fun! I have enough life-threatening experiences to last me a lifetime! I do not need you to pull out a gun, wave it around, and start threatening everyone's lives—_all because you want a little money_! So you'd better put that thing away, turn around, and walk right back before you came from before I go all kickass _Senturiel_ on your behind."

Dead silence filled the gas station.

No one knew whether to cry or laugh or scream or just plain shoot me.

The silence went on for a good few minutes until, finally, Bonnie managed to work up the strength to croak, "Ana. _Stop_."

"No. I don't want to deal with this. No. I do not need this friggin' wannabe thief coming in and threatening me. If he's supposed to be scary—then he needs to stop _shaking_ the whole time!"

"Ana!"

The man gripped his gun and pointed it directly at my head. His green eyes flashed with some newfound, twisted rage that had not been there before. He was still trembling, but it was less trembling out of fear and more trembling out of raw energy and hatred. "Say that one more time."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. "Shoot me? Kill me? You cannot even compete with an _elf_."

I don't really remember what happened next. There was a bang, the sound of a gunshot. There were sirens in the background. Bonnie screamed. Red and blue lights flashed. My chest was red. And sticky. I think it was blood. Yeah. There was blood spilling out of my chest. I remember that. Lots of blood. It didn't hurt. At first. The world just kind of went all hazy. The man in the baseball cap was crying. I think he was crying. Maybe he was laughing. Or maybe I was laughing. There was blood. I was laughing. Lots of blood.

"Oh." The blood dripped onto the white tile floor. "This doesn't usually happen."

I Skipped.


	49. Angst Borderline Depression

**AN: I think I went kind of crazy in the middle of this chapter. You'll understand when you get there. Sorry. It's called I-Don't-Know-What-The-Fuck-I'm-Doing Syndrome. It happens to us all.**

**I love you guys.**

**Just saying.**

**Please review.**

* * *

**Chapter XLIX: Angst Borderline Depression**

I don't remember dying. I mean—don't worry, I didn't die. Or did I. Maybe I'm standing at the gates of heaven, telling my story so that I have a chance to get in and you're actually an angel in disguise, here to make judgment on me. Are you an angel? No? Well, yeah. That makes sense. This is probably the entrance to hell and you're the devil. Now _that_ I can believe… Where are you hiding your horns and tail and pitchfork? Are you going to torment me any time soon?

Ack! Don't try and kill me! I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Calm down! We're in the middle of me dying! If you kill me now then you won't hear about me dying! You wouldn't want to miss that now, would you!?

Okay, okay, okay. Where were we? Right!

I don't remember dying. I think it was painful. I remember hearing a lot of screams. High pitched screams that ripped through the air like a daggers. They broke my ears and tore at my throat. I howled and moaned and thrashed about. My chest was red. My chest was on fire. And yet, I could not feel a thing. I don't know if that was good or bad.

Eomer's face appeared above mine. His lips moved soundlessly.

"Ana! Ana! What is wrong? Please. Do not die!"

Oh wait. Maybe that was him speaking. Yeah. That makes sense. Eomer was calling out my name.

"Ana!"

"No! I'm—AH—not okay! ARG! Make it—AH—STOP! The magic rock! The ma—AH—gic rock! It Skipped me—ARGGGG—too late! Stupid—WAH—rock!" I screamed. My voice shattered like breaking glass. I writhed about, unable to make any noise. Or perhaps making so much noise that it became silence.

I remember Faramir's face too. His face was pure white and he looked kind of sickly himself.

"Someone help her!"

Aragorn's face replaced Faramir's. "I am trying. I have never seen a wound like this one before."

Screams consumed the rest of the conversation. I think they might have been my screams.

"_Ana_!"

"Legolas—she is going to die!"

"She cannot die."

"ANA!"

"ARHHHHHG!"

"No!"

"She is the _Senturiel_."

"HAAAAAAHAHARRRRRRRG! IT HURTS! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP!"

"Aragorn—help her!"

"These things should not just happen."

"Ana! Ana! _Ana_!"

"Thorin!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Ana, you are not there."

My chest hurt. It wasn't the same agonizing, heart-ripping pain that it had been previously. It was more like a dull aching that never ceased. I opened my eyes. The world was fuzzy. It was spinning. Like a top. Round and round and round and round and round. I blinked. Some of the fuzziness went away. I blinked again. There were bandages on my chest. Oh. Right. I had been shot. I was still alive?

"You are in the Houses of Healing."

I rolled my head to the side and saw Eomer sitting in a wooden chair, his brown eyes watching me carefully. For once, he was not wearing armor, but a simple white shirt and pants. He seemed tired, dark shadows tracing the bottom of his eyes.

"Hey, you," I said. It hurt to smile, but I managed one. I'm quite proud of myself.

"You," said Eomer, shaking his head. "What have you been doing?"

"Me?" I turned my head back to I was staring up at the ceiling. It hurt my neck to look anywhere by straight up. "I was in the land of Simbelmyne leading the Unicorn Stars Army to victory against the Evil Overlord, Fiothiel Cartel Autumn. I had arrived late to the war because I overslept and everyone was mad at me. And you were there and you slapped me and asked—was your pimp holding you back?"

Eomer was laughing. I could see his right shoulder trembling out of the corner of my eye.

"It is good to see that you have not lost your sense of humor."

"Sense of humor?" I asked. "I'm serious. That really did happen."

"It is called a dream," said Eomer.

"Oh yeah. Those things exist, don't they?"

"Yes."

I was lying in a bed. Not a hospital bed, but it certainly had the same feeling. I was in a hall of sorts where multiple beds lined the walls. Matronly woman and some men wandered about the hall. They carried bandages and bottles with them, tending to the men lying in the beds.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You are in the Houses of Healing," said Eomer. "In Minas Tirith."

"Well, that's convenient," I said. "How'd I end up here?"

"You just appeared here," said Eomer. "Or Skipped. Is that your name for what you do? You Skipped here. I was at Eowyn's bedside when you appeared here. You were covered in blood and you were screaming."

"I was shot."

"Not by an arrow."

"By a bullet."

Eomer frowned. "They pulled a little metal object out of your chest."

"That's the bullet." I sighed and found the energy to roll onto my side. "I Skipped too late. There was a robbery in my world and I was in the middle of it. The guy shot me."

"Why did he shoot you?" asked Eomer.

"Because I called him an elf."

"Oh. So you are partially at fault for this." Eomer shook his head. "I should have known."

"I thought I would Skip before the bullet hit me," I said. "That's what usually happens." The dull aching in my chest had increased so that every time I breathed there was sharp, rigid pain that shot through my lungs. "At least, the Skips had the courtesy to bring me to the Houses of Healing. It's probably apologizing for being a—" The pain in my chest suddenly increased and I gasped. But as quickly as if had come, it disappeared. "—inconsistent bitch."

"What is wrong?" asked Eomer, leaning forward.

"I'm okay," I said.

He watched me for a long moment, his eyes narrowed as an internal debate flickered through his mind. Then, Eomer nodded once and leaned back in his seat. "You are fortunate that Aragorn was here."

"Aragorn's here?"

"He is outside the city in Pelennor Fields. He was unwilling to enter the city, except his skills were needed in the Houses of Healing."

"Whoa," I said. The wrenching pain in my chest as subsided a little. "Not only is Aragorn an incredible fighter, but he's a friggin' doctor as well. Call me impressed."

"Kingsfoil," said Eomer. "It is a healing herb used by the kings of old. Aragorn still remembers its abilities and used it to heal you along with the captain of Gondor and my sister."

"Eowyn?"

"She was severely wounded in the Battle of Pelennor Fields." A shadow crossed Eomer's face and he refused to look at me. His eyes were fixated on the tile floor. "She disguised herself as a man and joined the army."

"Nice," I said, nodding. "That girl got some sass."

"Some what?" Eomer shook his head. "The battlefield is no place for a woman."

"What am I? A duck?"

"You were not on the battlefield."

"I've been in more insane battles than you know and I don't even know how to use a sword."

Eomer sighed. "You should not be in battles either."

"I agree. Can I stay in Rohan with the other women and children while you go to war? I don't want any of those pointy sword things anywhere near me." I paused. "That sounded really weird."

Eomer frowned. "I do not understand."

"Pointy swords."

"Yes," said Eomer. "Swords are very pointy and dangerous."

"Eomer, Eomer—_pointy swords_."

He stared at me blankly. "Am I missing something?"

"Think of sword being the equivalent of something else. Something men have that women don't."

Eomer blinked. Slowly, understanding dawned on his face. His eyes grew really wide and then they scrunched up. His whole face seemed to wrinkle as a look of disgust squelched his features. "Was that absolutely necessary? I shall never see a sword the same way again."

"Glad to be the one to ruin it for you," I said, smiling. My smile quickly faded as the pain in my chest reached new heights. I screwed up my face and took a deep breath. "Ah."

"Is your wound hurting?" asked Eomer earnestly. "Do you need anything?"

At this point, a matron realized I was awake. She bustled over and shooed Eomer away, saying I was not ready for visitors. She gave me some medicine and before long I was fast asleep, somewhere in happy land.

You were in my dream. Can you believe it? Well, maybe you can. I am pretty crazy. We were having tea in Hobbiton with Hildifons Took. She was a fat little hobbit woman with graying curls and squinty brown eyes. She kept offering me tea. Not you. She asked you once and you declined and she never mentioned tea to you again. But me? She kept asking me over and over and over again—Would you like some tea, Miss Stonbit? Would you like some tea, Miss Stonbit? It is very nice tea, Miss Sonbit. Are you sure you wouldn't like some, Miss Stonbit? I have raspberry tea.—She would not stop asking! No. No. No. No. I don't want any tea. But she _still _kept asking. And you sat there, smiling. I hated you so much at that moment.

Then, Hildifons's house melted away. The walls dripped down like runny paint. The windows, the sofa, the coffee table, the fire place, even Hildifons herself—they all melted into a puddle at our feet. You and I sat there.

"Well, that was odd," I said.

You didn't respond.

The scene changed. We were running through a field. You were faster than me, of course. I was slow and out of shape. I kept shouting your name, but you wouldn't slow down. That was very inconsiderate of you. I ran and ran. The long grass brushed against my bare legs, tickling my exposed skin. I was wearing a dress. Odd. I don't like dresses. I was wearing a long red dress. God, I hate dresses. I must have tripped over the hem of my dress a thousand times.

You had disappeared. I was alone in the field as a gray sky rolled overhead. It was going to rain. Great. My dress was going to be ruined. I ran towards the nearby forest, my long dress flapping at my heels.

It turned out that the forest was not a forest of trees but a forest of mirrors. (I told you this dream was weird). The mirrors were everywhere, jutting out from the ground like trunks. They had not frames, only sheets of reflective glass underneath the gray sky.

I stepped to the nearest mirror. I saw myself for the first time—and _damn_ I looked good. Like when you go to a restaurant and you want the best thing on the menu—order up a plate of me 'cause I looked scrumptious! I had long hair in the dream. Which was weird, because my hair had never actually grown past my shoulders before in my life. Long blond hair to go with the long, flowing red dress. Yeah. This dream has me totally out of character.

And then I saw you in a mirror.

"Hey!" I spun around, but you were gone.

"You look nice."

You were in the mirror opposite me. Smiling. Weird.

"Haven't seen you in a long while."

You smiled again. "Why red?"

"You're dead."

"Why red?"

I glanced down at the dress. It was kind of revealing. People in Middle Earth would be shocked by the low neckline. You weren't shocked. I wonder why. Then again, it was a dream. Stranger things have happened.

"I don't know."

"You should wear blue next time."

"What?"

"Or white. Do you like white?"

I frowned. "Why don't you come out of the mirror?"

"You do not like white then."

"What?"

You stepped to the side of the mirror and disappeared from sight. I called out to you. It was strange. You responded, but I couldn't see your face. Your voice filled the forest of glistening mirrors like a jagged knife, bouncing off the glass, reflected endlessly in my ears.

"You cannot be rid of it so easily."

"Be rid of what?"

"Do not go insane."

"I don't want to."

"That does not mean you will not."

"That's comforting."

"You are not responsible."

"Huh? For what?"

The mirror smashed.

I didn't do anything. I didn't move a muscle. But that didn't stop the glass from imploding. There was a loud cracking noise and then the glass shattered into a thousand pieces. They deadly raindrops they splattered on the forest floor, spraying in all directions. Another crack. Another mirror broke. The shards flew towards me. I covered my face as the sharp edges lashed against my skin, drawing streaks of red blood. Another crack and another mirror. One by one the mirrors shattered. The forest became a rain storm. Glass droplets flying every which way.

"Ana!"

My eyes ripped open and I sat up. A jarring pain shot through my chest. I gasped and blinked rapidly. The room was so bright.

"Ana!"

I was sitting in the same bed as before with bandages still wrapped across my chest. This time, however, it was not Eomer who sat by my bed, but Faramir. His gray eyes were frantic and his hands were trembling as he tried to find some way to help me. A matron was standing next to Faramir, she seemed at a loss as to what to do. There were other patients to see, she couldn't spend all her time on this one crazy girl.

"I'm okay," I said, managing to regain my breath. "I'm okay. Just a bad dream."

The matron hesitated, but she scuttled away to help some other patient.

"Just a bad dream?" asked Faramir anxiously.

"Yeah. They happen, you know. With me going insane and all. Sometimes I'm like—oh, it's a normal day—and other times I'm like—holy fudge, mirrors are breaking and I'm a friggin' weirdo. It happens. I get used to it."

Faramir regarded me for a moment, the corners of his mouth turned down. "I did not understand a word you have just said."

I took a deep breath and, careful to pause after each word, I said, "I am going crazy."

"You are not going crazy, Ana."

I stared at Faramir for a good long minute.

"You are right. You are crazy. But your craziness is justified."

He was staring at me with wide, earnest eyes. I would like to take this moment to fangirl over Faramir. I'm sorry, but he needs the love. Faramir is the nicest, most sincere guy I have ever met! He just wants to make everyone happy and he tries so hard and his father just goes—_no_, Faramir, you suck. Just look at your totally awesome big brother (who, by the way, if totally awesome)—and poor Faramir just wants his father to be proud of him. And he tries so hard and he's so nice and he needs more love in his life so please love him. I mean, he knows my situation and he knows… stuff. And he still wants me to be happy! Who could not love this little adorable piece of huggableness?

"Ana?" asked Faramir. "Are you alright?"

I was crying. Again. I swear, I'm leaky faucet. "I love you so much."

"Um, thank you."

"You, you, you." I couldn't find the words. "You, you, you, you, you, you, you."

"Calm down. Take a deep breath. We are in no hurry."

"Why don't you hate me!?" I somehow managed to get the words out. They burst forth like a hurricane and the moment they had passed through my lips, my tears doubled. "Why can't you hate me?"

Faramir stared. "What?"

"I told you. I told you. I _told_ you that I would save Boromir. That I wouldn't let him die! And I lied! I let him go. I saved him! I _saved_ him! I took him home before the orcs could kill him! We were fine! And then. And then. And then. And then. I brought him back. I brought him back to _die_. I _killed_ him."

I never knew crying could be so painful. It was as though my entire insides were being ripped to shreds and cast from my body through my tears. It was agonizing. My chest was on fire. My eyes were burning. My throat was sandpaper, grating, grating, grating. Crying took all my effort. My hands rubbed my eyes. Snot streamed freely from my nose as high-pitched whimpers rose in my throat.

"Ana," said Faramir.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I tried so hard, but I brought him back to die! I'm sorry! I promised you. I promised you."

"Ana."

"I promised you. I promised you that I wouldn't let him die!" The next few apologies that came out of my mouth were jumble of whimpering and speaking. They weren't even distinguishable as words. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I loved him. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He was my best friend.

"Ana."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I can't fix it. I can't fix it. I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Ana! _Will you close your mouth and let me talk or are you going to keep apologizing and acting as though you are the reason for Boromir's death, like the selfish little girl you are trying to be_?"

Well, that shut me up. I stopped sobbing (though there was still a little sniffle here and there) and stared at Faramir in wide-eyed shock. I think that was the first time I had ever seen him yell. It was scary.

"What?"

"Quiet," said Faramir.

I was quiet.

"Good. Now I may talk." Faramir took a deep breath and began. "I know my brother. He was a hero. He was courageous, chivalrous, patriotic, bold, brash, idiotic hero. He would never allow you to be responsible for his death. Boromir would rather die a thousand times over than allow anyone else to be responsible for his own death. He would walk to his own destruction with his head held high because he _knew_ what had to be done. Not because you forced him to, but because he knew he had to die for the world to find some happiness. Don't you dare feel an inch of responsibility for his death. Don't you dare take an ounce of credit for his deed. That is his alone. Don't take it from him. Boromir is a hero. So only he could be stupid enough to walk on two feet to his own death. And that's why we love him."

Neither one of a spoke. Faramir was crying too (though he looked much better than I did when he cried). Gentle tears fell from his gray eyes, and his bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. I was crying too. My eyes were puffy and swollen and my throat was filled with phlegm. We probably looked stupid. Two stupid idiots crying like the stupid idiots that we are. But that's all part of the love.

"Some people." I said. "Some people are meant to die. Aragorn told me that once." I wiped some tears from my cheek. "Some people are meant to die so that the world can turn good again. But I don't think they're meant to die. I think they choose to die so that the world can turn good again."

"That is Boromir," said Faramir. "He died so Middle Earth can be green."

"It'll be green again, right?"

Faramir shook his head. "I do not know. Maybe."

"It will," I said. The tears had stopped flowing. "I'll make it green. Even if I have to grab a paintbrush and paint it, I will make this world green again."

"Two paintbrushes," said Faramir. "I will help."

I started crying.

Again.

This really has to stop.

Seriously.


	50. Aunt Ana To The Rescue

**Chapter L: Aunt Ana To The Rescue**

I stayed in the Houses of Healing for a two weeks. I spent the first week bedridden. I was visited quite bit by my friends. Eomer, Taysend, and Gaenry liked to bring ale with them and then drink it in front of me (patients can't have any alcohol). Faramir came to chat almost every day. At some point, he started bringing Eowyn with him. Faramir and Eowyn. I totally saw that coming and I'm going to take all the credit for that budding relationship. Absolutely. I set them up. In my sleep.

Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn came by sometimes. Gimli and I still had a wedding to plan. Even at the end of the world, weddings were still important. The end of the world… There was a perfect view of Mordor from my bed. The window…It looked out on a black sky. Not because it was night—I guess it was an eternal night in Middle Earth—but the black clouds that billowed out over the mountain range. Fire burned below, lighting the darkness with a kind of rage and hate. It was hellish scene. Eomer, Faramir, Taysend, Gaenry, Eowyn, Aragorn, and Gimli could try to cheer me up as best they could, but all I had to do was look to the window and I knew that their doom was approaching. Their hopes rested on two little hobbits wandering through Mordor, moving ever closer to the Mountain of Fire.

I could not get the image out of my head. The image of Minas Tirith being pillaged by orcs. It was the image from long ago, when I was a child. It was the image of absolute despair, because it meant that Frodo and Sam had fallen and that Aragorn had not returned to his throne. It was the future.

Was Minas Tirith still going to fall? Were my friends still going to die? Or was the world going to change? Had it changed already? Or could I still change it? I didn't know. And that was the worst part.

I Skipped at the end of two weeks. I was in the middle of an enthusiastic conversation about monkeys with Eomer, Taysend, and Gaenry and—whoops—I was standing in the middle of the gas station. Awkward moment anyone? I was wearing a white nightgown. Not the style of 2013 Ohio. I was barefoot and the bandages that covered my wound were still wrapped around my chest. I probably looked bizarre. The shopkeeper was certainly staring at me.

"Hi," I said, waving. "I was in a rush and I didn't have time to change out of my bedclothes. I hope that's alright with you…"

"You…" The man seemed to be at a loss for words.

"I'll just, um, be going now." I glanced at my clothes. "I forgot my wallet."

"You're Ana Stonbit…"

I stopped half-way to the exit and turned to stare at the shopkeeper. His tan face was covered in little beads of sweat his brown eyes were wide and bloodshot.

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"You're the girl who was shot." The shopkeeper was panting with excitement and fear. "You were shot and you disappeared and no one knew where you went. We thought you were dead."

"Me?" My voice came out little more than a squeak. "I think you have the wrong person."

"You're Ana Stonbit!"

"You have the wrong Ana Stonbit!"

I bolted. I sprinted out of that gas station as fast as my short legs could carry me. The white nightgown flapped about, beating against my ankles and wrapping itself around my legs as though it was trying to trip me. I heard someone shouting my name behind me, but I did not stop to look. I didn't want to see. I was only when I was far, far away from the gas station that I stopped running. I stood on the sidewalk—cars raced by, some of them honked their horns—and gasped for breath.

Man, that stupid, inconsiderate robber had screwed up my life. Did _everyone_ think I was dead?

Let's hope not. I don't to be the world's newest miracle.

"We all thought you were dead."

I crossed my arms and glared at Nick over the kitchen counter. "Obviously, I'm not."

"You were shot and you disappeared. What were we supposed to think?" Nick turned around and peered over the back of the sofa at me.

"That I had run away."

"Everyone saw," said Bonnie. "I could either tell them you were dead or tell them that you Skip to a mythical place called Middle Earth. Which would you prefer?"

I sighed and poured the coffee into three separate cups. I'd Skipped back to the gas station yesterday and walked all the way home (I'd lost my cellphone in Middle Earth). Google had reveal much—the robber had been apprehended for murder, an obituary had come out about me, and my parents were already planning the funeral. Great. I had to call them and tell them I was alright and make up some excuse that I had slipped out the back to avoid the bullet. By some miracle, I managed to convince them of the truth.

Then, I called up Nick and Bonnie—time for a group meeting. They came over to my apartment. Nick now lounged on the couch, making himself as comfortable as if this were his own apartment. Bonnie was leaning against the arm of the sofa—not fully commit to sitting, but in a semi-comfortable position nonetheless. I was in the kitchen making—guess what? Coffee!—I finished preparing the three lattes and moved out to the living room to hand the mugs over to Nick and Bonnie. I took a seat in the lazy boy and sipped the sweet latte.

"So what am I going to do?" I asked.

"Alert the authorities," said Nick.

"Bad idea," I said.

"Why? You're alive. The whole world thinks you're dead. Don't you want to be alive again?"

"Stupid," said Bonnie. "Ana would be famous."

"I'm not understanding the problem," said Nick. "Doesn't everyone want to be famous?"

"That's only your six-year-old fantasy," said Bonnie. "It'd be really inconvenient for some people—Ana—to be famous."

"It's my nine-year-old fantasy," said Nick, taking a sip of his coffee. "I wanted to be a rockstar."

I grinned. "Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars, live in hilltop houses, driving fifteen cars. The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap. We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat."

"I can pour this coffee on your nice couch," said Nick, lifting the pink coffee mug into the air. "Good-bye leather."

I gasped. "You wouldn't!"

A grin slowly worked its way across Nick's face. "Watch me."

"You son of a bitch!"

"Don't you insult my mother like that!"

"Don't you threaten my leather like that!"

"Guys," said Bonnie. "We were talking about Ana's problems with becoming famous!"

"I don't get it," said Nick.

Bonnie opened her mouth to respond, but she was interrupted by a three quick knocks on the apartment door. We all turned to stare at the flat piece of wood, wondering who could be on the other side.

"I'll get it," said Nick, cheerfully. He jumped over the arm of the sofa and bounded across the room. He practically threw the door open, but the moment he saw who was on the other side, his smile vanished.

The small brown haired, blue eyed cutie that lived next door stood in the hallway. His hands were thrust in his jeans pockets and he kept shifting from side to side uncomfortably. He looked up at Nick through his long, black eyelashes. "Hi," said Jack shyly. "Sorry I didn't stop by sooner. I wasn't sure if it was the right time…" He took a deep breath. "I heard what happened to Ana—it was all over the news—I feel terrible for what happened. She was a nice girl. And I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help. Moving or a—"

Jack stopped talking. He stared past Nick's shoulder at me. I was lounging in the lazy boy, drinking my coffee and smiling innocently at him. I waved.

"Aren't you dead?" asked Jack.

"I went to Heaven but God said I wasn't good enough and I went to hell but the devil thought I talked too much, so I just came back. How you been?"

Jack gawked at me for another second and then he turned back to Nick. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"It's a long story," said Nick. "In short, Ana isn't dead, we aren't releasing this to the press yet, thanks for the offer of help, but we're good right now. See you." Nick slammed the door in Jack's face. "Stupid prick. Actually, he's not a prick. His prick isn't big enough for him to be called a prick. He's mote like a stupid needle. That accurate describes his size."

There came a muffled shout from the other side of the door. "I can still hear you."

"Go away, Needle!" shouted Nick, banging his fist on the door.

"Don't break my apartment," I said. "I'll make you pay for it!"

Nick glowered at the door for a second and then stormed back across the room.

"Well, that was rude," said Bonnie. "He seemed like a nice guy."

"He's the nice guy who yelled at Ana when she disappeared during their date and then wouldn't give her a chance to explain." Nick hopped back onto the sofa. "We don't like him."

"He's not all bad," I said.

Nick glared at me.

"But he's kind of a jerk."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "This is what I get for going missing for six months. I don't understand any of these grudges."

"So wait," said Nick. "I still don't understand why we can't tell the world that Ana's still alive. Why don't you want to be famous?"

"Because when I'm famous, people will notice me," I said. "And when they notice me, they notice my Skips. Which means people will realize that I disappear and friggin' random moments. And then—damn, that girl is crazy, let's send me to a mental institution—"

Skip.

"—and then I spend my whole life behind bars except when I Skip to Middle Earth and then Skip back behind bars. I can't go to a mental institution! They break delicate people like me! Break! Snap! It doesn't work! I can't go there!"

Someone screamed.

"I was joking. It's not that serious…"

I blinked. I wasn't standing in my apartment anymore. I was standing on a river dock. The smell of river water was overwhelming. The scent of fish and mud mingled in the air and I screwed up my face. The wood of the dock seemed to sway from side to side in rhythm with the harsh waves of the green-gray river. I wasn't the only one of the dock. A crowd of people were standing right by me. Women in long brown cotton dresses and men in tight pants and damp wool shirts. They were screaming and shouting and waving. No one had noticed my sudden appearance as all their attention was focused somewhere far beyond me.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Ah! He has gone under!" One fat woman clutched the man-next-to-her's shoulder. Her face was pale and she looked as though she was about to faint. The layers of fat under her chin wobbled wildly.

"Who?" I asked.

"Bard!" Someone shouted. "Someone grab him!"

"I cannot swim!"

It was then that I saw him, the little boy bobbing about in the water. He was having trouble staying afloat as his arms waved about wildly. He kept trying to scream for help, but water filled his open mouth and he chocked and gargled.

"Oh my God!" I cried, jumping up and down. "Someone shoulder save him!"

"You save him!" cried a gangly youth. "I am not jumping in there!"

"You're the man," I said. "I'm but a pitiful woman. Who says I can swim? I might just drown alongside the boy—and then both our deaths will be on your hands. And I'll haunt you until your dying day. You'll be trying to sleep and I'll come hover over your bed and tell you scary stories so that you'll only have nightmares and on your death bed you'll tell your beloved grandchildren that you shoulder never have told that nice little lady to go jump in the river."

The gangly youth stare at me blankly. "You are odd."

"Someone should save him though." I looked around at the group of anxious people. No one seemed willing to jump in to save the boy. "This is kind of sad."

"He has disappeared!" The fat woman waved her arms about wildly.

"Watch out!" I cried. But it was too late. Her fat elbow whacked me in the nose, knocking me backwards. I shrieked and reached out to my aching nose. My foot slipped on the edge of the dock and—before I even knew what was going on—I plunged head first into the raging river water.

Oh snap.

The icy water lashed around me. I screamed and found myself flooded with river water, It tasted disgusting. Like watery kelp. I didn't like it. I coughed and choke. My arms and legs thrashed about. I was drowning. I was dying. Oh my God, I was going to haunt that fat woman. What a way to die. Drowning, drowning, choking, cough, my lungs were ready to burst, explode, they were filled to the brim with water. Drowning.

And then I remember that I knew how to swim.

It made things a lot easier. With a jerk of my arms and kick of my legs, I propelled myself to the surface. With a gasp, my head broke the water and breathed in the free air. I opened my eyes and looked around. The people on the dock were screaming. There were now two people drowning. No one tried to save us though. This is just getting sad. I spun around and searched the water's surface. For a moment, I couldn't find him. Then I saw his scrawny hand scrambling above the water's surface. Alright. I can do this. I was an A Grade Shark at my local swimming pool. I could save a little kid.

I dove into the water and swam across the river. The current was strong that I expected and I was pushed down stream. I powered through the water, each stroke pushing me forward. I had to stop frequently and check to make sure I was still headed towards the kid. Sometimes I had to readjust myself.

Finally, my hand reached out and caught hold of the kid's wrist. I lifted him to the surface and—tada—he spewed up a mouthful of water in my face. So this is my thanks for saving his life. Great.

The boy was screaming. He didn't seem to realize that I was rescuing him and he started thrashing about wildly. He hit me and kicked me. I dropped him at one point and he sunk back under the water.

"Calm down!" I cried. "Ow! You just kicked my boob! Not nice ! I _will_ let you drown!"

"No! No! I do not want to die! I do not want to die! Do not take me to the other side!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked. Water sprayed in my face as I fought to stay afloat. "I'm here to friggin' _save _you, stupid kid!"

He stopped struggling. "What?"

"A girl tries to save your life and you repay her by punching her! What kind of brats are they raising here?" I started to kick, steering us in the direction of the shore. The current continued to push us downstream. "I mean, really. I _heroically_ dive into the water. All those other people were just going to be drama queens—they weren't doing anything about the fact that you were drowning, but _me_? I said—move out of my way, you overgrown chickens. I will save this little boy. So I dive into the water and gracefully swim over to you and I'm ready to rescue you and you _friggin' punch me_. Brat, I oughtta drown you myself!"

"Please don't!" cried the little boy. "I thought you had come from the other life to bring me to the other side! I did not know! I did not know!"

I paused to consider this. "Oh, so you thought I was an angel. Well, that's very flattering .I suppose I could forgive you this one time…"

"I have not done anything particularly good in this life and I do not wish to be punished for the rest of eternity… I thought you came from a place of fire and brimstone."

My eyes narrowed. "You should have stuck with the angel version of events, brat." I shoved his head under the water.

When he came up against, the kid was coughing and spluttering. "I am drowning! I am drowning! You are killing me!" he wailed.

"Oh, oh, oh." I stood up and waggled my finger down at him. "The water's like a foot deep, brat. Now you're just faking it."

The kid stood up and the water came up with his thighs. He looked from side to side. We were standing on a rock shore of the river, just around a bend and out of sight of the docks. Some drooping trees hung low over the river and formed a little cove around the rocky beach. The kid and I were standing in the water. We were both soaking wet. Our clothes clung to our bodies and our hair—his dark brown and mine bright blond—were dripping water like faucets. We looked like drowned rats. (Maybe I'm related to Kili.)

"Mine name is not brat," said the kid. He used his right hand to push his soaking bangs out of his eyes.

"You'll always be a brat to me," I said, trying to squeeze the water out of my hair.

"I called Bard."

"Bard the Brat," I said. "It works well. You have the whole alliteration thing going on."

Bard waded out of the water. "My boots are like buckets." He pulled his hoes off. First the right boot and then the left. He tipped them upside down and water came pouring out. A fish fell out of the left boot.

"I don't want to know what's in my boots," I said.

Bard turned to look at me for the first time. His big brown eyes scanned over me from my soaking leather boots to my blue jeans (those have to seem odd) to my black t-shirt to my drenched blond hair. Bard frowned. "Who are you? I have not seen you around Laketown before?"

"I'm just passing through," I said.

"Where are you from?"

"Ah. Um. Brats shouldn't ask questions."

Bard scowled. "You just do not want to answer the question. There is something you are hiding. Where are you from?"

"I am from a mythical place called Ohio. It's a land of flying vehicles and electricity. Things like dragons and balrogs don't exist in Ohio and the only thing we have to fear are other people and guns. Guns hurt. Have you ever been shot by a gun? I have. It hurts."

Bard stared at me. The scowled had disappeared from his face and had been replaced by an open-mouthed look of bewilderment. "What is this place where dragons do not exist?"

"Not in this world," I said.

Bard gasped. "So you are from the other place!"

"Not that other place," I said. "The other other place."

"Oh." Bard pursed his lips. "That does not make any sense."

"It doesn't make sense to me either."

Bard looked up at me. "So what is your name?"

I opened my mouth to respond. I paused. Then, a wide grin spread across my face (I probably looked terrifying, like I was plotting something _really _evil). "You can call me Aunty Ana."

"And you called me a brat," said Bard. "_Aunty Ana_?"

"Take it or leave it, kid," I said, crossing my arms across my soaking wet chest. "I can always push you back into the river."

"You would not dare."

I bent over and scooped him from the ground. He screamed and thrashed about as I carried him to the river edge. I leaned over, bringing his face closer to the water.

"No! No! No! No! Please do not! Do not!"

"What do you say?"

"I do not know!"

I leaned even closer to the water and his face was inched away from the choppy surface.

"Aunty Ana! No! Aunty Ana!"

"Good boy." I laughed and placed him back down on the dry shore.

"What are you doing to Bard!?"

We both spun around to see a thin, frail woman standing on the rocky beach. Her face was pure white and she looked ready to pass out at any moment. A rough man with a thick, curling beard appeared next to her.

"Mother!" cried Bard. He scampered across the beach and flung his little arms around his mother's waist.

"What were you doing to Bard?" asked his father. He snapped a tree branch off a nearby plant directed the pointy end to me.

"Hey, hey, now," I said, lifting my hands into the air. "I just rescued your son. Did you not see the whole jumping into the river and swimming over to your son thing? I'm a _friggin_' hero!"

The father jabbed me with the stick. I screamed and ran into the water.

"This isn't funny!" I tried to shield myself with my hands. "I'm a good person! Honestly! Please don't sacrifice me to any dragons!"

"Sacrifice you to a dragon?" Bard's father frowned for a second. But then, it hit him. His grip on the stick tightened so much that his hands turned white. "You are a witch!"

"What!? No!"

"Not Aunty Ana!" cried Bard.

"Do not call that woman your aunt!" cried his mother.

"Get away from us!" shouted the father. "Witch! Return to your dragon servent!"

I screamed and ran to the other side of the beach to avoid the stick. "Why does this keep happening to me!?"

The father went for another jab with the stick.

Skip.

Thank God. I didn't want to be skewed and served up for dragon supper. Ana kabob does not taste good.

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**A/N: Please review. Because you love me. And I love you to. And it's just a loving relationship. Full of love. **

**I didn't have a Valentine, okay! **


	51. Beardless And Blond

**This chapter is dedicated to my valentines: LadyShirahime93, AlexHide, LadyDunla, Tridraconeus, REN FTW, Ichigo, Sasstastic, Tellfire, Archet, TheSandGirl, Metallic Butterfly, Ellethwen Celtic, Lynn-o-chan, Anasevilreviewer, TS17isme, MelissaKatherine, Calemireth, Saphira Eragon, The DevilsDaughter267 (AKA: People who reviewed the last chapter.)**

**NOTE ABOUT THE CHAPTER: Just to clarify something so this chapter makes sense for those of you who have not read the Hobbit. Kili and Fili were both blond in the book. **

* * *

**Chapter LI: Beardless And Blond **

I was standing between a thick, stone pillar and a wall. It was cramped. There was only just enough space between the grooved, curved pillar and the rough wall. It's a good thing I'm not claustrophobic (I'm afraid of enough stuff already, let's not add small spaces to the list).

I squeezed my way out from behind the pillar and found that I was standing in a small dwarven hall. How did I know it was dwarven? Good question. 1) The hall was entirely made of stone with no windows. There was an arching ceiling with carvings and thick set pillars holding up the ceiling. 2) It had a sturdy dwarvish feel to it. You know the feeling? Roaring fires, homey atmosphere. It was dwarvish. 3) There were dwarves in the hall.

Two little blond dwarves. They couldn't have been more than four foot and neither one of them had beards. They didn't notice me at first; they were too busy in their practice session. They were mimicking a battle with wooden swords. The fake blades clacked together loudly, the noise echoing through the hall.

The slightly taller of the two dwarf-children managed to disarm the other—sending his brother's (I think it was his brother) sword flying across the hall. The sword clattered on the ground and skidded across the stone-paved floor. It came to a half just a few feet away from my wet boots.

"I think you dropped something." I bent over a plucked the wooden sword of the ground. Water droplets fell on the ground, dripping freely from my hair. "You guys wouldn't happen to have a towel, would you?"

The two little dwarves gawked at me. They seemed unsure as to whether they should attack me (the older one kept glancing at the wooden sword in his right hand) or flee. I grinned at them—and then paused. Their faces were so familiar. The older one had the same eyes… And the younger one the same face…

I screamed and dropped the wooden sword. "Oh my God! Fili! What happened to your beard? And Kili! _Have you gone blond_!?"

Fili and Kili looked just as scared of me as I was of them. Fili lifted his wooden sword and pointed at me. His hands were trembling slightly, but he managed to keep his voice even (I was quite impressed). Kili cowered behind his brother, but he kept glancing at the wooden sword I had just dropped.

"How do you know us?" asked Fili suspiciously. "You are not a dwarf."

I sighed. "If only. What wouldn't I give to be a majestic dwarf? All my humany problems would disappear and I could spend my days working with precious gems, drinking ale, and being on majestic badass. I'd even be willing to grow a beard."

Fili lowered his sword slightly. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm a friend of Uncle Thorin." I laughed. "I've always wanted to call him Uncle Thorin. Can I keep calling him Uncle Thorin? Yes? Okay, we're good." I paused. "Oh. Right. I have to introduce myself. Hi. I'm Ana Stonbit. In the future, you two and I will go on a crazy adventure together to take back Erebor. We'll fright trolls—well, you'll fight and I'll run away screaming. We'll vanquish goblins—well, we'll run away like weak cowards, but we'll make it out alive. Then we'll battle orcs—well, actually we climb trees and the nget rescued by eagles. But then we'll meet some elves—well, they put us in prison and we escape in barrels… Damn it, Uncle Thorin, who does our whole adventure involve us running away!?"

"Fili," whispered Kili. "I do not think this woman is sane."

"Shush." Fili elbowed his brother in the ribs. "We do not want to upset her. She might snap and try to eat us."

"I'm not a cannibal!" I cried. I paused and tilted my head to the side, thinking. "Actually, would it be considered cannibalism if a human ate a dwarf? I mean, that's like saying it's cannibalism for an orc to eat a human—and I _know_ orcs do that. Actually, orcs eat other orcs so that's a redundant point. But still—is it considered cannibalism if an elf eats a dwarf or vice versa?"

"You are the one who gave her the idea," hissed Kili.

"So," I said, ignoring their whispered conversation. "How is Uncle Thorin doing?"

"We have not seen him in a while," said Fili. "He has been fighting wars with our southern relatives. We wanted to go with him, but mother would not permit us."

"I understand." I sighed dramatically. "Fili. I cannot take you seriously without your beard."

"I have never had a beard," said Fili.

I frowned. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-four," squeaked Kili.

"Fifty-seven," said Fili.

"Oh, whoa, you're both still older than me." I shook my head. "Whatever. Fili has no beard and Kili is blond. You're both too young to be taken seriously."

"Kili has always been blond," said Fili. "Why is this so strange?"

"You are beardless and blond too," said Kili. "So should we not take you seriously?"

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I mean—come on—Thorin's nephews just asked if they should take me seriously. _Thorin's_ nephews. He would disown them on the spot. It's great!

"You should always take me seriously, little dwarf brats," I said. I bent over a picked up the wooden practice sword again. I twirled the sword in my hand (an attempt to look badass) and dropped it again. We'll just pretend that little scenario didn't happen. "I am Ana Stonbit the Senturiel and Thorin's near-majestic puppy. I'm going to save both your lives one day, so you should suck-up to me while you still can. Or I might just change my mind."

Fili and Kili stared at me for a good long moment. Then, they took a few steps away from my and carried out a hushed conversation. They would cast suspicious glances in my direction before turning their attention back to their conversation. I watched them, unable to keep the image of a tree house with a sign saying 'No Anas Allowed' on the door. Thorin would be president of the tree house.

Eventually, the two brothers reached a decision as to what to do with me. They broke their meeting and turned to face me. However, before Fili could get the words out, a deep, gravelly voice boomed through the hall.

"Fili! Kili! Why did you not tell me that we had guests?"

A short, stout dwarven male his way across the hall. He was entered silently through a huge stone door on the other side of the hall. Oh wait. The dwarf was female. Sorry. I always got confused with the beards. Okay, okay. This she-dwarf was short and stout with wavy dark brown hair. She even wore a brown, wool dress (wow, now I feel _really_ stupid—how did I miss the dress?). She did have a short, breaded beard though. Very dwarvish. Actually, when I looked at her carefully, I realized that she was quite beautiful. Probably more beautiful than me. Even with the beard. She haad strong features with fierce blue eyes. She held herself erect and upright and she moved with a dwarvish grace (that is to say without any grace of the normal definition).

"Mother." Kili groaned and turned to the she-dwarf. "Do not embarrass us."

"Embarrass you?" Dis surveyed me carefully, a slow smile spreading across her proud face. "Is this your _fiancée_, Kili?"

"Fiancée?" I asked.

Dis turned to me and clapped her hands together excitedly. "Kili always tells me about this little dwarf girl he has been _so_ in love with and he cannot _wait_ to marry. But he has never introduced us."

"Oh," I said. "Well, in _that_ case, my name is Ana Stonbit. It's so nice to meet you!"

Kili groaned. "Do I not get a say in this?"

I pranced over to Kili's side and wrapped and arm around his much shorter shoulders. "Don't be shy, _honey_."

"I am called Dis," said his mother (my to-be-mother-in-law). A slight frown crossed her face. "I have never met a Stonbit before. I thought I knew every dwarf in the Blue Mountains."

"I'm from the south." I paused. "Bree. Area. You know. I'm good friends with Thorin."

"That slow, stupid, stubborn dwarf who has a stick shoved so far up his backside that he cannot walk in a straight line anymore?" Dis snorted. "How do you survive?"

I stared at her for a moment. "Um…isn't he your brother?"

"That does not mean I have to like him." Dis crossed her arms. "I ask him to babysit my boys _one time_ and he invents a war he has to go fight just to avoid doing some _honest_ work. He does not even have a proper _job_." Dis clicked her tongue against her teeth and shook her head. "It is the fault of father and grandfather. They keep feeding Thorin ideas of reclaiming Erebor."

"But he does," I said.

Dis stopped talking and turned to stare at me. "What did you say?"

"But he, um, does reclaim Erebor. Eventually." I stopped talking. "You know! I'm hungry. You got any grub on you? Or some ale? I'm always in the mood for ale."

Dis squinted at me for a second, as if she were trying to read her mind. However, my mental defenses (whatever they are) must have held, because after a moment, Dis's smile returned and she said, "Actually, I was just about to call the boys for dinner. Would you like to join us?"

Kili was shaking his head and mouthing the word 'No' at his mother. I elbowed him in the side and beamed at Dis. "Of course. I would _love_ to."

Dis lead me through the hall and back to their dining room. Fili and Kili followed behind me, bringing their wooden practice swords with them. They kept muttering between themselves and shooting me deadly glances. I didn't pay too much attention to my potential murderers (They are so much like their uncle Thorin! It's adorable!) We entered the stone dining room where the heavy oaken table was set with plates upon plates of meat and bread and other dwarvish "delicacies". I ended up sitting across the Dis at the table and next to my fiancée. Kili kept giving me dirty looks as he dished up his steak. There were only four of us at the table. I didn't see any sign of Kili and Fili's father.

"Have you heard the story about Geirfast the Stone Biter?" asked Dis eagerly. "That was always Thorin's favorite growing up."

"Thorin doesn't like to tell stories," I said, taking a sip of ale. "But do tell."

"He is an old dwarf legend. I am surprised you have not heard of him."

"My parents were never ones for legends and storytelling."

"Well, yes," said Dis. "You are tall for a dwarf. It makes sense that your parents are a little…_unusual_."

"So wait," I said, leaning forward. "Garefast or however you say it. What happened to him?"

"Geirfast the Stone Biter," said Dis. "Dwarves are well known for eating just about any food that crosses our paths. Which is true with the exception of lettuce and other elfvish foods."

Kili screwed up his face and stuck his tongue out. "Yuck."

"I agree," I said. "Elves are _gross_."

"Well, Geirfast ate _anything_," said Dis. "Even elvish lettuce."

I gasped. "Blasphemy!"

"It is true," said Dis gravely. "But that is how he achieved his name. You could put anything on a plate and place it on the table in front of him and he would eat it. Well, one day, for amusement, his brother put a plate of stones in from of Geirfast."

"He didn't!" I cried.

Dis nodded. "He did. He _ate_ the stones."

"Did he survive?" I asked, my voice little more than a whisper. (It was a very interesting story! Don't judge me!)

"Yes," said Dis. "No one knows how he did it, but he survived eating the stones."

"Wow," I said. "That's intense."

"It is a dull story," said Kili. "Can we discuss a more interesting topic?"

I turned to Kili and wriggled my eyebrows. "Can we discuss why you are _blond_?"

"I have always been blond," said Kili. "Why do you keep insisting that my hair has ever been any color besides blond?"

"Because you're a brunette!"

"He has always been blond," said Dis. "Like his father."

I paused for a second, deep in thought. But then it struck me. "Ah-ha! I get it! I understand it all now!"

Fili sighed. "I have the feeling this is going to get out of hand."

"You are a natural blond, but because your majestic uncle could not tell you and your brother apart—Thorin is too majestic to pay attention to such small details as facial structure—so you decide to dye you hair _brown_."

Fili sighed. "I was correct." He took a bite of steak.

"And you're a beardless rat," I said, crossing my arms and leaning back in my seat. "You're just jealous because I'm right."

Fili decided it was best to ignore me and just eat his steak. Kili however looked close to tears.

"Thorin is good uncle!" cried Kili. "He has taught me how to fight and he is going to bring me on a quest to reclaim Erebor!"

"Do not have such fancy ideas in your head," said Dis. "Erebor is lost. Thorin needs to accept this fact and he needs to stop corrupting my sons."

"But he's going to bring them a quest," I said. "Do you change your mind?"

Dis stopped scolding her son and turned to stare at me. Her smooth, brown eyebrows were knitted together as she considered me. Finally, she turned back to her son and said, "Your fiancée is rather odd."

"She is not my fiancée," said Kili. "I have never seen her before in my life."

"She was spying on us in the practice room," said Fili.

"Kili!" I cried. "How could you do this to me!? I thought we had something special!"

"I do not even know who you are!" cried Kili.

Dis turned to me. "You are not the dwarf girl Kili loves?"

I laughed and scratched the back of my head sheepishly. "I mean. We're going to be really good friends in the future…"

"Who _are_ you?" asked Dis.

"I'm—" Skip. "—a Thorin fangirl."

* * *

**A/N: I had so much fun writing this. **

**See Kotorigaro's picture of Dis on Deviantart to see my inspiration for her appearance.**

**See Pabuttego's The Secret of Kili's Hair on Deviantart for the idea of blond Kili goes brunette.**

**Please review.**


	52. Malfunction

**A/N: It's my ambition in life to be a published author and for every book I write to have a character (no matter how small his role) named Raoul. **

**Please review.**

* * *

**Chapter LII: Malfunction**

There are many good things about Skipping. I'm not going to deny that. If I hadn't Skipped then I never would have met you—and that was one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me. If I hadn't Skipped, I never would have found out the truth about myself and maybe Middle Earth would never have survived Sauron (or maybe it would and I just want to take all the credit). I don't know. But there were good times. There were also bad times. The fact that I couldn't keep a job. I couldn't have a love life. I lied to my parents constantly. My life was a mess. Thank you, Skipping. And then, there was death. I hate death. Whoever came up with death? It's a shitty idea, I can tell you that. Can't we all just be immortal and live in peace knowing that we'll be together forever? (That sounds bad when I say it out loud.)

Skipping is good and bad. I've experienced both sides of it. And I'll tell you now—this section of my story is not a happy one. This is one of those bad moments. I'm just warning you. Are you warned? Yes? Good. Let's go.

So. I actually didn't Skip again for a good month after my visit with Kili, Fili, and Dis. Which was unfortunate because I couldn't wait to get back to the Company and tease Kili about his blond hair.

I spent that month searching for a new job—which I found. At the coffee shop down the road. I was terrified I was going to screw things up and they would kick me out of the coffee shop for good. Which would have been a shame, because I really liked that coffee shop and I'm pretty sure I provided for half their business. The good news is I was allowed to have free coffee there. Man, I have never had such damn good coffee in my life.

Also, good news number two—there was a cute guy who worked at the coffee shop with me. Oh my God! Lordy, lordy! He was attractive. And just my type too. Under six foot with dark hair and blue eyes—I was dying whenever I worked with him. I mean, really, Aiden was perfect. (Except for his name. I don't know why, but I can't stand the name Aiden. I can't even stand to tell you a story with the name Aiden in it. So, we're going to call him Raoul instead. Raoul is a great name. Just saying.)

So, this all started when I was working at the coffee shop with Raoul (such a great name) and Nick and Bonnie decided to come visit.

Nick leaned over the counter and grinned at me. "Hello, beautiful."

"Go away," I said.

"Ana!" cried Raoul. "You can't talk like that to the customers!"

"See," said Nick. "He knows what's going on." Nick turned to me and said, "I'll have a large with one pump caramel, one pump white mocha, two scoops vanilla bean powder, extra ice frappuchino with two shots poured over the top—apagotto style—with caramel drizzle under and on top of the whipped cream, double cupped."

Raoul stopped and stared at Nick. "Get out or I'll shove the caramel pump down your throat."

(Oh right, I should probably explain that Raoul and Nick were roommates in college freshman year. Otherwise that might sound kind of weird… It already sounded weird, didn't it? Yes? Oops. Should have explained that sooner. Not everyone can be the perfect storyteller!)

Nick laughed. "What happened to—you can't talk like that to the customers?"

"Nick," I said, tapping the order into the register. "Play nice."

"You're just talking like that because you've got a huge crush on Raoul," said Bonnie, elbowing Nick out the way so she could get to the counter. "I want a large sugar free, non-fat, no foam, extra caramel, with whip caramel macchiato. Then pour regular coffee down the side with two packs of raw sugar and a stir stick on the side. Not in the middle, on the side."

I stared at Bonnie and then at Nick and then back to Bonnie. "I hate you both."

I rung them up (I might have added a little extra to the price…) and then Raoul and I moved behind the counter to make the orders.

"Why are my friends so mean?" I asked.

"At least Nick has not tried to pair you with anyone yet."

I glared at Raoul.

"Oh. He has." Raoul grinned. (Oh my Lord, is it possible for the guy to get any hotter?) "He kept trying to set me up with the _ultimate love match_. Me and Taylor. All freshman year. It drove me insane. Nick would be like—let's get lunch. I show up at Buffalo Wild Wings expecting to see Nick—and Taylor's sitting there. Annoying."

"Well, he hasn't gone to that extreme," I said. (Thank God, Thorin lived in Middle Earth.) "But he's convinced that Thorin and I share the _ultimate_ love."

"He's the _ultimate_ prick," said Raoul. He handed Bonnie the coffee before turning back to me. "But it worked out in the end. Taylor and I have been going out for four years."

My stomach dropped a stone. All those little bubbly happy feelings of a possible romance with Raoul? Gone. He has a girlfriend. Gone. Just a void of emptiness inside me where my love life ought to be. Thanks, Nick.

I finished making Nick's coffee (I may or may not have added a questionable substance to it) and handed it to him. Nick and Bonnie made their way across the coffee shop to a little metal table by the window. They grinned over at me and waved, but I ignored them, determinedly cleaning the coffee machine.

"So who is Nick trying to set you up with?" asked Raoul.

"Oh. You know. A guy. We're just friends though."

"Well, 'just friends' often means something more." Raoul wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. He paused and then laughed. "I'm crazy."

(Do you not see this!? Raoul and I would have been soul mates! Except that his name is actually Aiden… But still! Thanks a lot, Nick!)

"It's less a friendship as it is that I'm a huge fan of the guy and he bullies me," I said.

"A fan?"

"He's majestic," I said, gloomily.

"Oh." Raoul suddenly looked extremely serious. He leaned back against the counter and nodded. "I see. Majesty is serious business."

"It is," I said. "Without majesty, the world would be out of balance."

"Evil would triumph and we would all be burning in the fires of hell."

"There would be no good left," I said.

"It's all about majesty."

"Majesty."

"Majesty."

Raoul and I stood there for a minute, both of us nodding and saying majesty at random moments. Then, suddenly, I stopped and said, "I'm going to go talk to Nick and Bonnie." I turned around and dragged myself to the other side of the store where my friends sat. I lifted up my hand a karate chopped the back of Nick's head.

"Ow!" cried Nick. "What was that for?"

"You. Set. My. Soul. Mate. Up. With. Another. Girl."

Nick blinked, confused at first. Then he tipped his head back an laughed. "Honey, Taylor is boy."

I stopped trying to beat Nick to death and stared at him blankly. "What?"

"Taylor is a boy. Raoul is gay, Honey."

…Three seconds of Does Not Compute…

"Nick, don't lie to me. No. Whatever. It doesn't matter—I can work with that! I can work with a guy who's attracted to other guys! Come on! He's perfect! How can such a fine specimen be gay? That isn't fair!"

Nick was cracking up with laughter. He bent over, his head at the level of the table top and his entire body—from his shoulders to his feet—was trembling with explosive laughter. Bonnie was smiling too.

"We all make the mistake at some point," said Bonnie.

"Who? Oh right." I pulled up a chair and sat down at the table with them. "The ex-boyfriend."

"Ding-ding-ding—we have a winner!"

Nick managed to stop laughing long enough to lift his head above table height. "But you have to admit—this was _funny_."

"Shut up," I said.

"Why can't you just accept your ultimate love with Thorin?" asked Nick. "you two will have the perfect romance. You'll be the overly emotional, overly enthusiastic wife and he'll be the serious, sarcastic husband and you'll live in Erebor together and have little dwarf children with ridiculous names like… like Lomebrilas and Ethelfride."

"They would be Agni and Myrun, Stupid," I said. "You obviously don't know a word of dwarvish."

"Whoa," said Bonnie. "You've already picked out names for your and Thorin's children?"

"Don't be silly," I said. "They're names for Gimli and my children. Gimli just happens to be a dwarf too."

"Ana has a lot of Dwarances going on," said Nick. "First Thorin, then Gimli, and now Kili."

"I'm just a regular player," I said.

"Ana? A player? I can't see that?" Raoul leaned over my shoulder and laughed. "She's too innocent."

I squeaked and—in that moment of embarrassed terror—I Skipped.

Damn it. I'm blaming Nick for all of this!

I curled my arms up to my chest and squinted through my eyes the scene before me. Well, the good news was I was no longer near Raoul and I wouldn't have to face the embarrassment of having to admit I wanted to go out with him. The bad news is that I was standing on a wall with orcs and men and lots and lots of swords. An arrow flew past my head. I screamed.

"Ana!"

I spun around. There was an orc with a massive blade above his head. He was about to cleave my skull in half. No. He was frozen/ There was a sword sticking out of his stomach. The orc's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He let out a high-pitched moan and then collapsed at my feet. Purple blood oozed from his gut.

Aragorn stood behind the orc, panting and gasping for breath.

"Hi," I said, waving.

"Look out!"

Aragorn leapt forward. He pushed me to the side and thrust his sword forward. The blade dug into an orc's chest. The creature screamed and Aragorn yanked his sword out.

"I don't like this!" I wailed.

"Why are you here?" asked Aragorn.

"I don't have any control!" I shrieked. "I was working in a coffee shop! A coffee shop! And I just found out that my soul mate was gay! And then, I freaked out and then I Skipped here and now I'd rather be attracted to only gay men for the rest of my life than be here!"

Aragorn sliced off an orc's head. "Run!"

"Where!?"

The battle was everywhere. Now that I looked around, I realized that I was standing on a massive stone wall. On one side there was an army of orcs—yelling, shouting, and cursing—and on the other side of the wall, there was an army of human archers. On the wall, men and orcs clashed. Blood sprayed everywhere, bodies littered the ground—it was a mess. It was war. The wall connected to a stone keep. A huge building that sprouted forth from the side of a mountain. More soldiers decorated the walls of the fortress. They were firing arrows towards the rabble of orcs.

"Anywhere but here!" roared Aragorn. His sword never stopped moving. It was drenched in orc blood.

"Where is here?"

"Helms Deep!"

I Skipped. I was standing in the coffee shop. My hands were thrown over my face and I was cringing away from a now non-exitent orc.

"Ana?" asked Nick. "What's wrong?"

"We're gonna win. We're gonna win. We're gonna win." I repeated the words over and over. "We went to the celebration. We're gonna win. We're gonna win. They drank together afterwards. We're gonna win. We're gonna win. Deep breaths. We're gonna win."

"Win what?" asked Raoul.

I screamed and Skipped again.

I was standing on the wall once more. A huge, fat orc let out a bellow and lifted his blade into the air. He swung it towards my head. I screamed and stepped backwards. I tripped over a corpse—narrowly avoiding the sharp blade. I lay on top of a dead body and screamed. The orc roared again. He was about to lob off my head.

Clang!

Eomer's sword made contact with the orc's. "Ana!" He pushed the orc backward and then swung his sword. Bam! The orc's head was separate from his body.

"Eomer!" I wailed. I flung my arms around his right leg. "Save me!"

"Why are you here?" asked Eomer. "This is no place for you."

"Don't think I don't know that!?" I shrieked. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

"Release me! Ana!" Eomer tried to shake his leg out of my grasp. "I cannot fight with you clinging on to me!" He managed to escape and he leapt away from me.

Skip.

"Eomer!" I lunged forward and grabbed onto his leg.

I looked up at his face. Only it wasn't Eomer anymore. I was holding onto the leg of Raoul.

"What is going on?" asked Raoul. "What's happening? Why are you holding me leg?"

"Ah!" I let go of Raoul and jumped backwards. "Ah!"

Skip.

"Ana? Will you stop screaming?"

I closed my mouth at the sound of the familiar, gruff voice. Gimli stood in front of me, his axe resting on his shoulder and his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Save me!" I cried and moved to cower behind Gimli's short shoulders.

Gimli swung his axe and cleaved an orc into pieces. "Twenty-one."

He spun around. I yelped and leapt out of the way of the axe. Gimli sliced open the stomach of another orc.

"Twenty-two."

"What are you doing!?" I cried.

"Counting," said Gimli. "I must defeat the elf."

"The elf?" I glanced down the wall and saw Legolas prancing around like the nancy boy he is. I nodded. "In that case, carry on."

Skip.

"Ana!" cried Bick, leaping up from his seat. "What is going on?"

I was standing in the coffee shop again. Thank God the coffee shop was mostly empty. The two old ladies in the corner were watching the scene with curious eyes and th obsess man was watching with unbelieving horror. But other than that, it was only Raoul, Nick, Bonnie, and sometimes me in the coffee shop. Nick and Bonnie seemed frantic—like they weren't sure how to stop this from happening. Raoul just seemed plain confused.

"Why does she keep disappearing?" asked Raoul. "That is not normal."

"No, it's not…" I said.

"Ana!" Bonnie reached out a hand to grab hold of me. "Stay here!"

Before her hand could come in contact with me, I screamed "No!" and leapt backwards, just out of her reach.

"Ana!" cried Bonnie.

"Don't touch me," I said. "You might Skip too."

"Ana…"

"I am so confused," said Raoul. "Why are you covered in blood?"

"I'm—"

Skip.

I was standing on the wall again. Surrounded by grotesque dead bodies, their lips stretched into eternal screams of agony. I pulled the Sword Breaker out of my right boot. It's okay. I would be ready the next time an orc attacked.

"Ana! What are you doing? Get out of here!"

I spun around to see Dorthin sprinting through the battle. He leapt over the dead bodies and dodged through the swords. My heart was pounding. Dorthin? Dorthin died. No. Dorthin died in the Battle of Helms Deep. Oh God.

"No!" I screamed. "Dorthin! Run the other way! I don't wanna see! I don't wanna see!"

"Run away!" shouted Dorthin. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me along the wall with him. I stumbled over the dead bodies, narrowly avoiding getting my head sliced open. I fell over several times, but Dorthin just dragged me along the ground after him.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!"

"I cannot!" said Dorthin. "They have explosives!"

"Who?"

I needn't have asked. Obviously the orcs had the explosives. The wall blew up. Fire and stone met and a massive explosion echoed through Helms Deep. Rock and dirt went flying in all directions. Dorthin and I were caught in the blast. We were thrown backwards. I Skipped.

I slammed into the window of the coffee shop. I felt glass break under my weight. I went sailing through the window and landed—with a heavy crack—on the sidewalk outside the coffee shop. There was blood. I didn't know if it was mine or Dorthin's or Eomer's or an orc's. It was all the same right then.

"Ana!" screamed Bonnie, leaping to her feet.

"Are you alright?" asked Raoul.

"Don't make me go back." I was crying. Never before had my tears tasted metallic. "Don't send me back."

Skip.

"No… No…" Theoden was staring at the ruins of the wall, at the ruins of Rohan's defenses.

"What should we do?" asked one of the commanders.

"Retreat?" asked another.

"Don't let them die… Not again… Please…" My face was buried in my hands. "Please… Theoden…"

Theoden spun around. He hadn't seen me before I spoke. He leapt forward and grabbed my wrists. He pulled my hands away from my face and I was forced to look at him. He looked so weary. It was raining. His blond hair was matted to the sides of his face. I was ugly. I was crying and bloodied and wet. We were two messes.

"Please…" I said. "He cannot die again."

"I will try," said Theoden. He released my hands spun around to face his commanders. He said something that I did not hear because I had already Skipped away.

"Where did she go?" asked Raoul.

"She does this," said Bonnie. "She Skips to another wo—Ana!"

I was sitting on the floor of the coffee shop. Crying. Crying. Crying. I couldn't make the tears stop. They just kept flowing like a leaky faucet. Endless tears. Endless suffering. I hate death. I hate war. I will be a pacifist for the rest of my life.

Skip.

"Why do you keep turning up at the worst times?"

I stared up. Eomer stood over me. His sword was drawn and he kept looking from left to right. An orc attacked him and Eomer drove his shoulder into the orc's right shoulder.

"Eomer!" Taysend raced past me. "Hurry! The king called for a retreat!"

"Ana!" Gaenry was standing behind me, his sword resting on his shoulder. "Ana! Why are you here?"

"I thought you died in the explosion," said Dorthin, breathing a sigh of relief. "I could not find you anywhere."

"She is crying," said Taysend.

"Of course, I'm crying!" I shouted through the snot and tears. "Have you seen where we are!?"

"Have you?" asked Eomer.

"We must move out!" said Taysend.

He led Gaenry and Dorthin back towards the keep. Eomer grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet.

Skip.

"Who is that!?" cried Nick.

I was standing in the coffee shop again. With Nick. And Bonnie. And Raoul. And Eomer.

I screamed. "Eomer! Why are you here? Eomer! Go away! Why?"

Eomer was staring at the coffee shop, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide. He was still holding his sword and dressed in full battle armor. He looked so out of place and so awkward.

"Where did he come from?" asked Raoul.

"I told you," said Bonnie. "He came from Middle Earth."

I wrapped my arms around Eomer's shoulders and screamed. "Skip us back! Skip us back! He has a war to fight! Skip us back!"

"I don't think that's going to work," said Raoul.

"Ana," said Eomer. "The people here talk as strangely as you."

Skip.

We were standing in the keep. I immediately released Eomer and put as much difference between the two of us as I could. I should never bring Middle Earth people back to Ohio. It was bad enough with Boromir. Boromir! Ack!

I tripped over a wounded soldier. I fell towards the hard ground.

Skip.

"Why won't it stop!?"

Skip.

"Ana, where did you come from?" asked Taysend.

"Ana, you are bleeding." Gaenry reached out a hand to touch me, perhaps fix up my wounds, but I pulled away. "Where is Dorthin!?"

"Fighting."

"No!"

Skip.

"He's going to die again!"

I was kneeling in the coffee shop. I wasn't crying anymore, but my breath was coming out in short, sharp pants. I could see. The world was fuzzy. I didn't know up from down or left from right. It was all the same. Everything. Where was I? Was I in Middle Earth now? Or was I in Ohio? I don't know. Raoul is here. Or maybe that's Eomer. I don't know. I'm going crazy. I'm going _crazy_!?

Skip.

"DORTHIN!"

Skip.

Skip.

Skip.

Skip.

Skip.

Black.


	53. My Coming Out Story

**Chapter LIII: My Coming Out Story**

There was a man. A tall man. He had a short, brown beard. Almost black. He usually had an easy smile. But he wasn't smiling now. He was fighting on the battlements. His long sword was constantly moving. Slicing. Dicing. Cutting. Slashing. Everywhere. He was always moving. His armor seemed so heavy, slowing his movements down considerably. But it slowed down his enemy too. Their armor was thick and broad. It couldn't cover their distorted, purple-black faces. Orcs.

Clouds rolled through the darkening sky. The storm had come, rain bursting on the cusps of disaster. The first fat drop fell, landing on the girl's forearm. She was on hands and knees. Her right foot was resting on a dead man's head. Sorry. There was a headless orc in front of her. She was crying. Not for the orc. Not for the dead man. Hot tears in contrast to the icy rain.

The black-stone wall of Helms Deep was coated in death. Bodies were everywhere. Draped over the walls. Coating the ground. Piled on top of each other like building blocks, or a patchwork quilt. And yet, they kept on fighting. And they kept on dying. That one man. One man. The girl did not wish for much, but she willed him life. She willed him to breathe even is a hundred others had to die—just let him live. Just let him live.

There was an orc. Huge. Probably over six foot. Muscular. His armor exposed his flat stomach. Squinty white eyes. A hungry orc. His rectangular blade was already stained with blood of many men. The orc let out a roar and leapt forward.

Someone screamed. The girl.

The orc's blade slid in between the man's blade easily. As though it was made for that single purpose. The missing piece of the puzzle. A perfect fit.

The man's eyes grew very wide. A surprise. A convulsed shudder spread through his body. His lips moved soundlessly. His chest was torn open. The orc wrenched his blade out and moved onto the next soldier. The man joined the quilt of the dead.

"DORTHIN!"

* * *

I woke up in a hospital. One of those white roomed hospital where the bedsheets are tucked too tight and you can't move an inch. There was a window to my right, which looked over the hospital parking lot. My dad was sleeping in the cushioned windowsill. His head was resting against the glass so that his cheek was smushed out of shape. My mother was sleeping in a lazy boy. Her blond hair was prayed out around her pale, makeup less face. She looked exhausted. Both of them did. There were purple shadows under their eyes.

I sat up. I didn't feel tired. No part of me hurt. I was just fine. So why was I in the hospital?

It took a minute to come back to me. The Battle of Helms Deep and that damned coffee shop. Back and forth. Back. And. Forth. Over and over and over and over again. Never stopping never ceasing. Always Skipping. Until I passed out. I'm pretty sure I passed out in the end. The world had gone black. Both of them. I must have ended up in Ohio at the end.

"Ana?"

My mother was sitting up in the lazy boy. She seemed unsure if she shoulder smile or cry and her lips kept moving between the two emotions. Finally, she settled on both. She laughed and then burst into tears.

"Hi," I said. I scratched the back of my head and grinned. "Long time no see."

"Galin! Galin!" said Mom.

My father's eyes snapped open and he sat upright. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Ana's awake!" My mom spoke through streaming tears and an emotion-contorted face. (You can see from which parent I get my ugly crying face from.)

My dad turned to me. He didn't say anything, but smiled gently. I smiled back.

"I had the weirdest dream," I said. "There were bunnies. Lots and lots of bunnies. A while field of white bunnies. Except for this one black bunny amongst all the white bunnies. And because he was different all the other bunnies would laugh and call him names. But then one day, the bunny-owner came and he played with all the bunnies together and did not exclude any of the bunnies. And so, the white bunnies realized that the black bunny was just the same as them and they all became very good friends."

My mother was still sobbing. "You are…the strangest… child."

My dad handed her a box of Kleenex.

"Nick and Bonnie went to get some coffee," said Dad.

"Oh." I fiddled with the edge bed sheets. "How long have I been out of it?"

"Two days," said Mom. She sniffled and blew her nose on a tissue. "I've seen you sleep for a long time before—but never that long!"

"I was just, um, you know, really tired." I laughed.

"But no one could wake you up!" Mom face was white, like a tissue stretched too thin. "We kept trying and trying. You were, you were, you were comatose!"

"Lexie," said Dad.

"I called your name, but you never answered! My Ana? My Ana always answers! You have enough trouble just trying to keep her quiet! How can she not respond when her mother calls?" The tears had returned again full force.

"Lexie." Dad rose from his seat on the windowsill and placed a hand on my mother's shoulder. She stopped yelling and turned her head up. She stared at him for a long, watery-eyed moment. Dad nodded once. "I think we should call the nurse."

The door to the hospital room opened.

"I have coffee," said Bonnie. Her ginger hair was pulled up in a bun and she had the same blue shadows under her eyes as my parents. A tray of four cups was balanced in her right hand. She stopped at the sight of me. "You. You're awake. Finally."

"Yeah," I said, stretching my arms and rolling my shoulders back. "I just took a quick little nap."

"Your quick little nap was bother to everyone."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. You guys kick up too much of a fuss."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

Bonnie grinned, dimples appearing in her freckled face. "I'm glad your back. Sorry. If I knew you'd been awake then I would have gotten coffee."

"Meh. I don't want coffee," I said. "I want a big, juicy steak."

Dad rolled his eyes. "She's fine. We can go home already."

"Where's Nick?" I asked.

"He and Karen were going to get a drink from the vending machine," said Bonnie, handing my mother coffee. "They're probably making out in some corner."

"That sounds like Nick," I said, sighing. "The eternal player."

Dad grinned. "He's a—what did Aunt Fiona call him—a nancy boy."

"To the bone," said Bonnie, nodding.

"What are you saying about me now?" asked Nick, stepping into the room. Karen followed him, clutching a chocolate bar in her right hand and a cup of coffee in the left.

"That you're a nancy boy," I said.

Nick paused. He stared at me for a good, long moment. He frowned and squinted. Then, he turned to Bonnie and said, "Are you sure that's Ana?"

"Pretty sure," said Bonnie.

"She looks funny," said Nick.

"It's called not eating for three days," said Mom.

I groaned and pressed my hands to my cheeks. My face didn't feel any different from usual. "Do I look strange?'

"You always look strange," said Nick. "But that's beside the point. When did you wake up?"

"Ten minutes ago…"

"Oh, we have good timing then." Nick sipping his coffee. "I can just stand here and drink this coffee in front of you and remind you that you can't have any. Sucks to be you."

I groaned. "I just want meat."

"Are you really in the hospital?" asked Karen. "Is there even anything wrong with you?"

"Oh," said Bonnie. "There's _so_ much wrong with her. Where to begin?"

"You should have seen Raoul's face when you passed out," said Nick. He bounded across the room and cheerfully took my Dad's place in the windowsill. "He had no idea what the hell was going on."

"I did explain it to him," said Bonnie. "Somewhat."

"Explain what?" asked my mother.

I gave Bonnie a poisonous look before turning to Nick. "He's alright though?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Nick. "You're lucky Raoul is crazy already. Otherwise he—and you—would be in some deep shit. Instead, he was just like—oh, she's like that, huh. Poor Ana. Oh look there's a customer. Gotta go make some coffee."

I laughed. "That sounds like Raoul."

"I am so confused," said Mom. "What does Raoul have to do with any of this? What happened?"

"Don't worry about it," I said, forcing a smile. "Raoul's just the exceedingly hot guy I work with."

"Who's gay," said Nick.

"Don't remind me!" I cried. "So embarrassing!"

"I want to know," said Mother. "What happened in the coffe shop? All Bonnie and Nick would say is that you fell through a window, got up, and then passed out. But how could the cuts from the glass make you pass out? The doctor said they were shallow. What's going on? There's something you're not telling me!"

"_Lexie_," said Dad.

"I just don't like blood," I said. "It terrifies me. It's a ll red and sticky and it gets everywhere. And have you tries to get blood out of clothes? Nearly impossible. I don't know about you, but I don't fancy scrubbing my work uniform." I turned to Nick and grinned. "Can we add homophobia to the list of fears?"

Mom looked on the verge of tears again.

Dad sighed. "I think we ought to call the nurse."

* * *

Blood grew like a disease. At first, it seemed as though the wound was only part of the imagination, but then, a small red blotch appeared on the armor. The blotch expanded into a puddle and the puddle began to drip down the sides of the metal plating. Long streams of red expanded from the wound to the ground. Water droplets pounded, ringing music against the armor. The puddle of red was disrupted—mixing water and blood. Circles and ripples. A pretty pattern.

The sky was pouring. Fat, heavy rain droplets pounded the world below, like an onslaught from above. Orc or man. The little rain soldiers did not care. They attacked mercilessly. Faces were soaked. Hair was dripping. Armor was stiff. Voices were overwhelmed. Stone was slippery. Puddles formed in the ground. The dead were drowned. An army of millions drummed through the battlefield relentlessly.

The girl crawled over the piles of dead bodies. Unnoticed. She was oblivious to the world and the world was oblivious to her. Her eyes were focused in one place. The rain obstructed her vision. Water dribbled in rivers from her head, down her blond hair, down her back, along her clothes, and down to the ground. She did not feel the rain. Her vision did not have time to compute such things. Her vision was filled with the dead.

* * *

The car door closed behind me with a loud bang. I blinked and stared at the red-brick apartment building in front of me. Oh look. I was home. It had not changed in the time I had been in the hospital. The same hobo with the red baseball cap sat on the street corner, rattling his plastic red cup. (He was color coordinated.) The same silver car was parked outside the entrance. The same pink flowers were in bloom outside apartment 202. It was all the same.

"Do you want me to carry your stuff?" asked Dad, shutting the trunk of the minivan.

"I can do it," I said, holding out a hand for the little suitcase.

"Too bad. I'm keeping it. You should take advantage of being fresh out of the hospital while you can." Dad picked up the navy blue suitcase and carried it towards the entrance, the wheels awkwardly bumping against his right leg.

"Come on." My mom came to stand beside me. She intertwined her arm with mine and pulled me in the direction of the apartment.

"You don't have to do this," I said.

"We _want _to," said Mom. "We'll get you settled, maybe stay with you a couple days, and then we'll head home. Okay? We won't intrude on your life too much."

"It's not that…"

I let Mom lead me up several flights of stairs until we were standing outside my apartment. My dad was waiting for us on the landing. He was leaning against the wall next to my room. He smiled at us, though the smile did not reach his brown eyes. I pulled the apartment key out of my pocket and unlocked the room. My mom went inside first, followed by my dad. Surprise, surprise. The apartment was a mess. It's always a mess. I live as a slob, alright? I'm happy with my slobbish life. My mom, on the other hand, is not.

"Ana!" she cried. "Why is this place such a wreck? Oh my God! You just leave your bras lying around for anyone to find? Doesn't Nick come over often? I know he's a nancy boy—but _really_!?"

"Can I get you anything to drink?" I asked. "Coffee?"

"Tea?" asked Dad.

"I think I have some somewhere…in the back of the pantry…" I moved into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboard. I found a box of Earl Grey and pulled it out with a cry of "Ah-ha!" I put the kettle on and moved to the archway the joined the kitchen and the living/dining room.

Mom used the remote to flick a pair of underwear off the back of the couch before she delicately took a seat. My dad didn't really care. He plopped down in the lazy boy and used a sweater of mine as head support.

"Well," said Mom. "Nick's girlfriend seems nice."

"Yeah," I said. "I like her a lot better than Joana—that beotch."

"Ana! Watch your language!"

"I met her once," said Dad. "She was a bitch."

Mom sighed and shot Dad a glare that could have killed a wild boar. "You're not helping, Galin."

The kettle went off and I moved back into the kitchen to make Dad a cup of tea and myself a cup of hot chocolate. Through the rectangular window in the wall I could see over the counter as my mom mouthed something at my dad. Dad shook his head and my mom made some sort of violent motion. My dad sighed. He mouthed something back at my mom. She nodded.

I gritted my teeth as I tossed the used teabag in the trashcan. I had a feeling as to where this was heading.

I picked up the two steaming mugs and carried them into the living room. I handed Dad his black tea and then took a seat on the couch next to my mom.

"Ana," said Mom instantly. And so it begins.

"Yes, Mother?"

She looked pointedly at my dad. Dad sighed and turned to me, his expression was dead serious, though I detected some faint amusement in his dark eyes.

"Ana," he said. "What happened in the coffee shop?"

"I don't know. I blacked out."

"Something happened."

"I don't know."

"Something happened before you blacked out."

"I fell through a window."

"Why did you fall through a window?"

"I don't remember."

"Why can't you remember?"

"Because I blacked out."

Dad nodded once and then turned to my mother. "There you go, Lexie. I asked her. She doesn't want to tell me. There's nothing I can do."

"Galin! Ana!" Mom's voice reached a whole new level of shrill. "Don't do this to me!"

Dad's smile faded a little.

I looked from my mother to my father. They've always been like that. My father, calm and relaxed, was worried about my mother. His brown hair was a mess and wrinkles were well-defined. He didn't seem to notice his own exhaustion as he kept glancing at Mom, wondering if she was alright. My mother, with her blond hair pulled back in a bun, looked like a fretted hen. Her gray hairs were more prominent than ever right then. (Sorry, Mom.) She looked haggard and worn and, for a second, I wondered if it was my fault. It probably was my fault. Because I Skipped. Because I lied. Because I could never tell her the truth and she didn't know how to deal.

I took a deep breath. "I think we should order pizza or Chinese because this is going to be a _long_ story."

* * *

The man's eyes were still open. Like glass. Inanimate. Transparent. There was nothing behind them. He was a defective doll. He didn't work anymore. All his parts were there. His head. His arms. His legs. His heart. His lungs. They were all there. But they didn't move. They were cold and wet and lifeless. So lifeless.

A trembling hand reached out. Perhaps to touch him, but the hand drew back as if burned. The girl knelt beside him. She was no longer crying. At some point, tears have had their fill of sorrow and they become apathetic.

The girl was a defective doll. She didn't work anymore. All her parts were there. Her head. Her arms. Her legs. Her heart. Her lungs. They were all there. They moved. Her heart beat like a drum in the deep and her chest heaved with a tragic rhythm. But she didn't move. She was cold and wet and lifeless. So lifeless. So tragic.

"Ana!"

* * *

You know me so well. It's almost frightening at times, how well you know me. But I supposed that's to be expected. Sometimes, I think you know me better than I do. I hope so. Because maybe you can help me. I don't know if I was destined for tragedy or destined for happiness. I don't know if I was destined to die unknown or destined for something great. I don't even know if I was destined to do anything. I just kind of do whatever. But you know me. So maybe you can tell me what I'm meant to do. Because I sure as hell don't know.

"And that's the story," I said.

The apartment was silent. The empty box of pizza lay on the coffee table along with several empty mugs. The sun hung low in the sky, casting pink light across the skyline. The buildings were all alight. The golden electricity shone through the windows and walls; I would have thought the city was on fire.

"I can't believe you think dwarves are majestic."

I blinked.

My dad leaned forward in the lazy boy. He yawned and stretched, flexing his shoulders. "I mean, it's just odd."

"Um, yeah." I blinked again. "You know. Usually. People will, kind of, be surprised. Shocked. General reaction is like—Oh what? You're crazy. I know a good therapist though. Or you can just skip therapy and go straight to the mental institution."

"Yeah," said Dad. "That's the general reaction."

"Galin." My mom shook her head.

I looked from my dad to my mom to my dad to my mom to my dad to my mom.

"Am I missing something here? Or are you people more insane than I am?"

"Well," said Dad. "I think we might want to order another pizza."

"Say what?"

"My story is pretty long too."

"Say what?"

"I'm from Bree."

"Say what?"

And then, because of my incredible luck, I Skipped.

_Say what_?

* * *

**A/N: Please review.**


	54. The Arch Nemeses

**Chapter LIV: The Arch Nemeses **

I can't say I've ever been a huge fan of gold and jewels. Not that I would say no to a huge pile of gold. But, despite all my flaws, I am not _that_ greedy of a person. I don't think. Or maybe I am. In any case, when it's mine life versus gold, I will always pick my life. So, when I Skipped into the all too familiar halls of Erebor and found myself standing amongst the massive piles of dwarven gold and silver and gemstone, my first thought was not—

What?

Oh. You want to know about my dad and Bree. It's a cliffhanger, right? I mean. After all those years and this massive story of Skipping and finally I realize my parents have known about it all along—how could I go on a tangent about gold and gems? Well, guess what. After eighteen years of Skipping between two worlds, my dad had just revealed to me that he was originally from Middle Earth and—bam!—I Skipped. I had to wait a damn good time before I found out the rest of the story. So, darling, I'm going to make you wait too.

Please don't kill me.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, oh, oh. I was standing in Erebor amongst the mountains of dwarf gold. Again. (For a dragon infested mountain, I sure spend a lot of time in Erebor.) The mountains of riches seemed like a world within themselves. A country landscape that crossed vast miles and reached towards the heavens in the most fantastical manner. It was a world unto itself. Unfortunately, I know Erebor far too well to have time to appreciate the riches. I stood there for a moment, taking in the arched ceilings, the glittering mounds, the nearest exit…

Then, calm and stealthily, I threw my hand above my head and ran towards the open stone doorway, screaming at the top of my lungs.

"AH! DON'T KILL ME, MR. DRAGON! I'M LEAVING RIGHT NOW AND I'M NOT STEALING ANYTHING, SO PLEASE LEAVE MY FLESH ATTACKED TO MY BONES AND ALL MY LIMBS IN TACT! AH!"

The dragon was too quick for me. He was not sleeping under a pile of gold as he had been the last time I saw him. Someone (or something) had woken him from his slumber. He slithered out from behind a pile of gold and slipped between the exit and me. I screeched to a halt and stood there—steep mountains on either side of me—gawking at the massive red dragon.

Oh. My. Frig.

If there was something that was a cross between a lizard, a bat, a crocodile, and a demon and it was blow up to a thousand times its original size, then I think that would look something like Smaug. He had slitted black pupils that were almost lost in the yellow flames of his eyes. His scales were like gemstones in themselves. They reflected the burning dragon flames that illuminated the hall, glittering even more brightly than most of the gold in Erebor. Even from far away, I could see the jagged yellow teeth in his jaw and the thick, curing claws attached to each hand. He was a monstrosity of the demonic kind. Could such a beast even exist? And, to make matters worse, he was _massive_. He could easily snatch me up in his mouth and swallow me whole without even having to think about chewing. God, he was beast.

"Why are you so hasty to go? You have only just arrived. The amusement has just begun."

The. Dragon. Just. Spoke. To. Me.

I didn't know dragons could speak!? Did you know this!? Did, did, did anybody know this!? I mean, he could legitimately open his great and terrible jaw—that has probably devoured hundreds if not thousands of dwarves and men—and he _spoke to me_. He has a deep, rumbling voice that rolled through the hall rhythmically as if it was just another golden treasure in the hoard.

"Why are you so hasty to go? You have only just arrived. The amusement has just begun."

Smaug waited. And waited. And waited.

I didn't respond. I tried to. My mouth moved. It's just that no sound came out. I was still overwhelmed by the fact that the dragon was actually _talking_ to me. My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. My breathing came in short, punctured pants. Uh. Panic mode settling in. Uh. Exit. Uh. Run? Uh. Someone distract the dragon. Uh. Where's Kili when you need him? Uh. Help. Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh. Oh crap. He's going to kill me. Say something interesting!

"You have a pretty nice voice. It's deep. Is that a baritone I hear? You know. Your voice would be absolutely lovely if you sang. You might even be able to rival Thorin's majestic voice. Or maybe not. His voice is really friggin' majestic. But your voice would you absolutely amazing too. All this adventuring and hoarding and avenging and fighting—it's not really necessary. All it does is distract you two you're your true potential—as Middle Earth's first band. I'm not kidding. You and Thorin should get together and form a band. You can be called the Arch Nemeses. This is going to be big. I can tell. And, yes, I'll be your manager—thanks for asking. Oh. This is such a great idea. We should just contact Thorin and get the contracts settled. I'll get you two into a recording studio, write a couple of songs—you know how to write music, right?—and then we'll begin the touring. Great idea, right/ Of course, right. I'm glad you agree. Now that we're both on the same page, let's go convince Thorin."

I stopped talking and took a deep breath. What the hell did I just say?

Smaug seemed just as confused as me (if a griant crocodile/lizard/bat/demon can be confused). His licked his cracked mouth with his forked tongue.

"Should I devour you whole and let you die slowly in my stomach or should I eat you in little bites? The second option might prove to be less painful for you. But so much less amusing for me."

I swear my heart stopped for a second there.

"_Actually_," I said. "The Arch Nemeses would be a bad band name for you. Now that I think about it, you and Thorin aren't really arch nemeses. That's more like Thorin and Thranduil. Oh my God! Can Thorin and Thranduil form a band together? That would be so friggin' awesome!" The excitement vanished on the spot when I remembered I was facing death. I coughed and cleared my throat. "Actually, Thranduil doesn't have a good voice. Not like _you_. Nope. It has to be a band of you and Thorin. Why don't we just name you the Gold Troves? What do you think of that?"

Smaug paused to consider. "I prefer the first option, do you not too?"

"I agree. That's a terrible name. Where did I come up with it? I don't know. I almost deserve to burn for that one—but not really!" I screamed and threw my arms in front of my face. "I want to live! I want to be your band manager and make you the most famous duo in Middle Earth and you'll fly through the skies together making fangirls swoon with your glistening red scales and your super sexy claws. Claws are going to be coming back in style. Everyone's going to want them, but you'll be okay because you've already got them. And they're _natural_. But you and Thorin, flying through the skies, singing with you majestic voices. It'll be like majesty with wings." I paused. "Oh my God! That's such a great band name! Majesty With Wings! Yes! I'm not trading it. Copyright and trademark and all that—when can we start recording for our first album?"

I think, for one short moment, I managed to confuse a dragon. He stared at me, his yellow crocodile-eyes blinking rapidly. He leaned forward, extending his neck until his nostrils—flexing with every breath—were only a few feet away from me.

"This little sheep speaks but does not speak sense."

"No one understands my vision." I huffed.

"I can devour you and then the other sheep in my stomach can come to understand your vision."

"That's really not necessary. Kind of you, though." I smiled and waved at him.

Smaug pulled his head back. He lowered himself to the ground, his short scaly legs bending beneath him. He plopped down and settled on the floor, in a comfortable position to sleep.

"What brings you to the heart of my treasure trove?" asked Smaug.

"I'm just passing through," I said, pointing towards the exit on the other side of Smaug. "I really don't need any gold. If you'll just let me through, I'll be on my way and we need never speak of this again."

Smaug's gigantic eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I have seen you before."

"Maybe once… Maybe twice…"

"You are the sheep that came to my lair before and tried to steal one of my treasures."

"Pure accident," I said, shrugging. "I didn't know it was yours. Really. A mistake anyone could make."

"I do not recall the second time."

"First. When I was six you tried to cook me. It was during your siege of Erebor."

Smaug's eyes flitted from side to side, as though scanning through a slideshow of his memories. Finally, he said, his deep voice rolling, "I think I can recall you. But I thought you had died in the fire."

"I Skipped." I paused. "You know, we have a lot of history together, you and me. Rather than being Thorin's arch nemesis, you're more like my arch nemesis."

The edges of Smaug's mouth pulled back into some demonic twist on a grimace/smile. His forked tongue flicked against his spotted teeth. "I would prefer to be the arch nemesis of Thorin."

"I'm not all that bad! I have a pretty awesome life story! It involves raging dwarf parties, drunken elves, clumsy balrogs, and talking trees. I mean, come on, you have to admit that I would make a pretty awesome arch nemesis. I'm from another world! One with flying machines! You have to admit that's pretty awesome! Though, actually, I recently just found out that my dad's from Bree. And then, you know, I had to friggin' Skip before he could explain anything. What kind of cruel torture is this!? Why does my life hate me so!? I just want a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and an extremely attractive husband to impregnate me with extremely attractive children who we can raise to be extremely attractive together. _Is that really so hard to ask for_!?"

"I can just devour you whole, little sheep," said Smaug. "Then all your little problems will disappear."

"Running away never solved anyone's problems," I said, wagging my finger at Smaug.

He offered me another one of his grimace/smiles. "I can think of an instance where running away is an acceptable solution."

"Huh?"

Smaug opened his jaws, revealing the forked tongue, the rotting bones caught between his teeth, and his pink throat. I don't actually remember what the inside of his mouth looked like. All I remember was him opening his mouth, me thinking "Oh shit", me turning and fleeing as fast as I could in the opposite direction, and Smaug releasing a torrent of flames.

"WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS!? I JUST WANT A NORMAL LIFE! NORMAL! WITH A HOT HUSBAND. BUT OTHER THAN THAT! I JUST WANT A NORMAL LIFE! SKIP ME HOME! SKIP! SKIP! SKIP!"

Oh, how simple and easy my life would have been if I had Skipped back home right then. I would have brushed the singed hairs out of my heads, sat down on the couch with my mother, and let my father finish his story. But, if I have learned anything, my life is not simple and easy and I had to run from that dragon with my arms and legs pumping, my mouth hanging open, and flames roaring behind me. Through the piles of gold, down the pathway, my feet slamming on the stone floor. Exit? Exit? Exit? The only way out is right behind Smaug! Ah! Skip me back! I was going to die in there! I was going to be burn black to a crisp and I was never going to find out why my dad is from Bree! EXIT!?

And then, I found it.

It was little more than a hobbit-sized hole in the brick wall, but it was there. A black gap in the rough stone, concealed behind a pile of golden cups. Flames to my right. Flames to my left. I dove into that hole with all my might.

Ouch.

I landed on a not particularly nice rock. I think my hand might have been bleeding. I couldn't see anything. The world was pitch black. I could have been surrounded by spiders or ants or tiny little baby dragons! (I'm creeping myself out just thinking about it.) The tunnel was darker than dark. But, at that point, the lighting did not matter. All I knew was that behind me, there was a dragon trying to kill me. Which meant that I could only go forward. I placed one hand on the rough stone wall and used it as a guide. I walked forward. Step by quaking step, I walked through the tunnel.

I could tell you what went through my mind while I walked for what might have been hours, but, in all honesty, I would be lying. I don't remember anything. I think there was just a sort of blank fear running through me. It was dark, dark, dark, dark. It was a wet, cold, bone-chilling dark that started where my fingers brushed against the damp stone and spread along my arms to my head and my toes. The tunnel was infested with the darkness. I think I came out of the tunnel sick with it.

I did leave the tunnel eventually. I remember that vividly. I was fumbling around, my hands tracing the wall. I wondered if the tunnel would ever end or would I just walk forever and ever until I was somewhere in the center of the universe. It would be dark at the center of the universe too, so how would I know when I reached it? Things were getting really depressing in my head and then—bam—there was light. At first, it was only a thin light of dull, silver light. I stopped walking and squinted at it. The light expanded into a silver rectangle. It was blinding. Maybe it was heaven. The light at the end of a tunnel or something like that. Or maybe it was hell. I don't think I did anything good enough to go to heaven. But, you know, at that point, I didn't care if it was heaven or hell, I just wanted out of the damned tunnel. I ran forward. My hands were stretched out in front of me, grappling, hoping for something to touch other than rock. My foot struck a rock on the floor of the tunnel. I tripped. I screamed as I fell forward—crashing through the open door—right on top of a squishy hobbit.

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**A/N: All reviews are appreciated. A lot.**


	55. Things Get A Little Fluffy

**Chapter LV: Things Get A Little Fluffy**

We were standing on the mountain slope. There was a sort of flat, grassy area that was embedded into the mountainside. The sharp, gray stone edges of the mountain formed a wall around three sides of the grassy area, almost like an incomplete cave, and on the other side, the grassy area was concealed by the overreaching branches of a forest that covered the foot of the mountain. We were well hidden. The Company stood around a concealed opening in the mountainside. There was an open stone door—it was the same color and texture as the rest of the mountainside; I would not have realized it was a door if it had not been open.

It had been a long time since I'd seen the Company. Bilbo had picked himself off the ground (Sorry for knocking, you over, Bilbo.) He brushed the dirt off his pants and gave me a stiff glare. Fili and Kili stood just behind Bilbo. They looked as though they had just been whacked over the head with a baseball bat. I don't think they expected me to come out of the passage way. Well, I can't say I blame them. Then there was Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. Bombur looked a fat as always—which was good, I guess. The adventure had not done anything to diminish his appetite. Bofur was still wearing his floppy hat and Bifur was still silent. Ori, Nori, and Dori were still the same cheerful bunch. Ori still had his bow-tie beard and Ori was still wearing his ridiculous cardigan. Oin and Gloin were the same rowdy brothers. Balin still looked as grumpy as grandpaish as always. Dwalin was still the hulking warrior I remember. And then there was Thorin. He was okay. Oh, who am I kidding—he was still frigging majestic!

"I love you guys," I said.

Balin sighed. "I do not wish to listen to this."

"Are we all going to hug one another again?" asked Ori.

"I'm not objecting," I said.

Thorin grunted. "Ana. What were you doing inside Erebor?"

"I was having a chat with good ol' Smaug," I said. "By the way, Thorin, remember that band opportunity we discussed once? Well, I found you a singing partner. Have you heard Smaug speak? His voice is, is, is _regal_. You two should totally get together a form a band called Majesty With Wings."

"She is speaking in tongues again," said Dori.

"You have answered the question," said Thorin. "What were you doing inside of Erebor?"

"I'll answer your question when you agree to jo—"

"No."

"What?"

"No."

"B-b-but, Thorin! Your voice is so beautiful! It's a sing for you to keep it all to yourself! Don't be selfish! Share your majestic voice with the world!"

"No."

"You're mean." I crossed my arms and pouted my lips. "I'm not telling anything."

Thorin glared at me. I glared back. It was a glaring contest for the century. I swear we had a psychic connection going on. We glared at one another so fiercly that our minds melted together and we became one being of the ultimate grudge bearing. And then, Thorin had to go and ruin it by saying: "You Skipped there and Smaug discovered you. You lied through your teeth and spewed random conversation topics at him, until he got tired of you and tried to kill you. Then you accidentally found the secret tunnel and fled through that."

"What? How did you know all that!?" I cried. "Are you psychic?"

"I know you," said Thorin. "It is what you always do."

"Well, yeah, but still. _Damn_, you good."

"Of course, I am."

"So," I said. "Why are you guys standing out here?"

"We were trying to find a way into the mountain," said Ori. "Bilbo figured out the riddle."

I grinned and turned to Bilbo. "Good for you."

The hobbit blushed. "It was nothing. Really."

"Aw, you're so cute." I turned to Thorin. "So what are you guys going to do now?"

"Send the burglar into the mountain," said Thorin.

I stopped. "Say what?"

Bilbo swallowed nervously. "Well, it is my job."

I laughed. "Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo, Bilbo. Clearly, you have never met Smaug before."

"Yes," said Thorin. "Because you are an expert, Ana."

"Excuse me, Thorin, I've met Smaug three times and had an actual conversation with him. I think that makes me more of an expert than you."

"Then what do you propose we do?" asked Thorin in exasperation. I think the other dwarves missed his sarcasm, but Ori, Nori, and Kili turned to me with eyes of hopeful anticipation. They were practically glowing with excitement.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

The dwarves collapsed under the weight of my incompetence.

"And this is why your advice is ignored," said Thorin.

"It is alright, Ana," said Bilbo. "It is my responsibility to sneak into Erebor. I can handle the dragon."

"Just because you can turn invisible does not mean you're immortal!" I snapped.

Bilbo' eyes widened with shock and his right hand instinctively leapt to his pocket. The others dwarves stared at me in confusion. Some of them murdered amongst themselves, trying to figure out what I was taking about. Finally, Balin stepped forward and asked, "What do you mean? Can Bilbo turn invisible?"

"Invisi-what?" My blue eyes grew very wide.

"You just said Bilbo can turn invisible."

"No, I didn't."

Balin frowned.

"Yes, you did," said Fili. "We all heard you."

I blinked. "I didn't say anything. That was my split personality, Matilda. She has a wild imagination."

"You do not have a split personality," said Thorin.

"Shut up." I gasped. "Thorin! Did I just say that?"

"You know very well that you just said that," said Thorin flatly.

Dwalin, however, stepped forward and grasped me by the shoulders. "Ana," he said gravely. "You must fight this. Another person is trying to gain control over your body. But you must not let her. You are you and you can be no one else. Fight it, Ana. Fight it with all your might."

I sniffled. "Thank you, Dwalin! Your beard always was the most magnificent!"

"This is idiotic," said Thorin.

"We will always be here to support you!" cried Kili, leaping forward.

"Kili!" I cried. "You've just become slightly more majestic."

A wide grin spread across Kili's face. "Am I more majestic than Uncle Thorin?"

"No, idiot, your hair is a lie, how could you ever be majestic." I bit my lip and shook my head. "Matilda—shut up!"

"What does she mean?" asked Bombur. "Why is Kili's hair a lie?"

"Don't say it," I said, shaking my head. Don't say it. Don't say it. Pelase, Matilda, don't say it." I put my hands on my hips and grinned. "Because Kili used to be blond, but he died his hair because he was having an identity crisis."

Kili gasped. "Ana! You cannot tell people about that!"

I sniffled and wiped fake tears from the corner of my eyes. "I can't help it. Matilda said it."

"Am I the only one who sees the truth?" asked Thorin.

"You used to be _blond_?" asked Oin. "And how does Matilda know this?"

"I know everything," I said.

"I think I should just go…" said Bilbo. He inched towards the entrance of the mountain. No one noticed. "I will see you later. If I survived." No one saw him. He slipped into the mountain.

I shook my head. "Matilda, don't be cruel." I laughed. "I'll be as cruel as I want to."

"Matilda is not nice," said Kili.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," I snapped. I paused. "Matilda!"

"Actually," said Balin. "Ana calls Kili Captain Obvious all the time."

"Matilda is always with me," I said.

"So how come we have no met her before?" asked Balin.

"Because she does not exist," said Thorin.

"How _dare_ you!" I cried, pointing a finger at Thorin. "How _dare_ you challenge my existence! Who would listen to you, you over-grown rat who thinks he's something just because someone calls him majestic—well, you know what, you don't have—" I had to say it. For the sake of keeping my lie, I had to say it. "—an ounce of majesticness in you!"

Silence filled the clearing. I don't think anyone dared to breathe. Kili had turned as white as a sheet and Fili's eyes were about to pop out of his head. Ori was gasping, his hands clasped over his mouth. Balin was twirling his beard with his fingers, trying to look anywhere but at Thorin and me. Bombur had fainted and Bifur and Bofur were trying to hold him upright. Oin and Gloin were clinging to each other, shaking as though they had just witnessed a murder. Dwalin was clutching his weapon, looking from side to side suspiciously. Nori and Dori look as though they might blow away in the wind. Thorin was glaring at me, his eyebrows knitted together, and I (I mean, Matilda) was glaring back, my fist raised threateningly. All of a sudden, the violence disappeared from my eyes and I looked from left to right.

"Blasphemy!" I cried. "Matilda! You did not just call Thorin un…" My voice failed me. "Un, un, un, un, unmajestic!?" I could barely get the disgusting word through my lips.

"I never thought I would see the day," said Balin.

Dwalin nodded somberly. "The day Ana would call Thorin unmajestic."

"I must be dreaming," said Nori.

"A nightmare," said Dori. "The whole world is out of place."

Thorin rolled his eyes. "You are ridiculous. All of you. Ana is obviously pretending."

"How can you know that!?" I cried. "Come on! I even used the word un-un-un-unmajestic! Do you know what kind of dedication that takes? You could have at least _pretended_ to believe me! But _no_—being the oh-so-majestic Thorin, you just _had_ to point out the lie and ruin all my fun!"

Thorin smirked. "It is nice to hear the word majestic once more."

"The world has returned to normal," said Dori, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Why did you tell us you had a split personality?" asked Kili.

"For fun," I said quickly.

"I thought there was a reason," said Balin. "Matilda said something that was untrue."

"We are talking about Ana," said Thorin. "There is no explanation for the things she does."

I could have hugged Thorin right then. Thank you so much for not taking notice of anything I say! What kind of dreadful things could happen if the One Ring had been revealed to the dwarves? I didn't want to know. Nothing good, I'm sure.

"Where has Bilbo gone?" asked Ori. He looked left and right, his face fixed in a deep frown. "Has he wandered off again?"

"He has wandered into the mountain," grunted Dwalin.

"What!?" cried Kili. "When did that happen!?"

"While you were focusing on Matilda," said Thorin.

"We should go after him!" cried Kili.

"He is simply doing his job," said Balin. He lowered himself on to a flat rock and took a seat. "There is only one thing we can do. Wait."

The dwarves exchanged nervous glances. Thorin nodded and leaned back against a tree trunk. The dwarves followed his lead and took seats on the grass. Nori proceeded to teach Fili, Kili, Gloin, and Ori a gambling game with dice. Oin, Balin, and Dwalin chatted with one another in low voices, while Bombur snacked on some bread that Bofur had brought with him (Bofur knew how to take care of his family). Bifur was working on a little wooden toy, whittling the wood with a short knife. I, however, decided to join Thorin. I crossed my arms and leaned against the rough trunk of the tree, mimicking Thorin's pose. His lifted my chin, trying to copy his majestic, brooding glare.

"What are you doing?" asked Thorin.

"Shush. I'm learning how to be majestic."

A thrush came down from the tree and landed on a stone beside the door to the secret passage way. He fluttered his winks and pecked at the gray rock.

Thorin rolled his eyes. "You have not changed."

"Was I meant to have changed?"

"No. It is best you do not change."

I stopped trying to make myself taller and I turned to stare at Thorin. And I mean _really _stare at him. He was usually clean for someone who was constantly on the road (I think the dwarves had been staying in Laketown and therefore were permitted showers). His black hair was braided. It fell down past his shoulders and came to rest on his fur coat. His blue eyes were not looking at me, but rather at the far off sunset. The sky was navy blue like his coat, but the horizon was a bright, neon orange that turned to green and then blue as the sky came closer. Thorin worked that lighting. He looked damn majestic with dusk in the background. I felt as though I should drop to my knees and worship him or something!

"My dad is from Bree."

I don't know what made me day it. But the more I looked at Thorin, the more I ought to tell him. I mean, I told _Smaug_.

Thorin finally tore his eyes away from the horizon. "What did you say?"

I smiled and leaned against the tree trunk. "I told my parents my whole story. About me and my Skipping."

"Oh."

"They weren't surprised. And then, my dad dropped the bomb—he's from Bree."

Thorin nodded. "And did he explain how he came to leave Middle Earth?"

I shook my head. "I had to friggin' Skip before he could tell me the rest of the story."

"You would be that unfortunate."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You are cursed with bad luck."

"I'm cursed with Skipping."

"It is only a curse if you choose to see it as a curse."

"So are you cursed?"

"I am the most fortunate dwarf alive."

Thorin did not look at me. He watched as Nori beat the other dwarves in the game of dice and took a good chunk of their money. A soft smile played on Thorin's lips (I've never seen him smile like _that_ before. He looked like a cat. I'm not kidding. I never thought I'd see the day when a dwarf looked like a cat, but there you go. Thorin the Majestic Cat. I just wanted to hug him and hug him and never let go.)

"Is that sarcasm I detect there?" I asked.

"That is for me to know," said Thorin.

"God, I _hate_ it when you do that." I pinched his shoulder and he swatted my hand away as he would a gnat. "Can you just speak outright for once?"

"Never. You do enough of that for the both of us."

"Well, _excuse _me. I'm just an honest person."

"You pretended to have a split personality named Matilda not too long ago just so you could hide the fact that Bilbo turns invisible."

I froze. It was as though an icy hand had closed over my chest and I couldn't breathe. The feeling lasted only a second. I grabbed hold of Thorin's arm, tugging at his sleeve. "I was kidding! It's a lie! It's not true! I don't know what you're talking about! Forget it! Forget it! Forget it! I'll beat you over the head with a baseball bat if that's what it takes!"

Thorin caught hold of my wrists and pried me off his arm. "Make a decision. Should I forget what I heard or did I just imagine it?"

"Both!"

"I will keep you secret," said Thorin.

I groaned. "I'm an idiot. A stupid idiot."

"I cannot disagree."

(I told Nick about this scene. He called it the closest thing to Thorna fluff he had ever seen. I put vinegar in his coffee.)

I opened my mouth to respond, but there was a sharp, clear shout. I spun around, trying to see who was yelling. The dwarves are looked amongst one another in confusion.

"Who was that?" asked Balin.

"It came from the mountain," said Fili.

We all stared at the gaping black passage way. The thrush flapped his wings and returned to the haven of the trees. There was another shout and then a little hobbit-sized figure stepped out of the door. He huffed and puffed for a second, his hands resting on his knees.

"Bilbo!" cried Bofur. "You are alright!"

"Yes, yes," said Bilbo. He stood upright and produced a single golden cup. "And I have brought you a prize."

The dwarves crowded around the cup. They eyes were glowing with excitement. They passed it around, stroking the engraving and fawning over the wrought gold. I had never seen the dwarves so enthusiastic over anything in my life. Just wait until they managed to get inside Erebor. They would all faint of over excitement.

I crossed my arms and nodded. "Not bad, not bad."

"It is better than you," said Nori. "You entered Erebor and emerged with nothing."

"I wasn't trying to steal anything," I said stubbornly.

"Do not blame Ana," said Bofur. "She is not an expect burglar."

"Neither is Bilbo," I muttered.

"I am more expert than you," said Bilbo.

"You—"

A deep, rumbling sound echoed around the mountain. My heart turned to stone. I knew that sound. Oh, I knew that sound far too well. It was embedded in my mind like a brand. A deep, gravelly roar that sounded as though it was the rhythmical note of song. It was Smaug. Smaug had come.

A dark shadow fell over the forest. I lifted my head and look skyward. Through the gaps in the tree branches, I could see the outline of the red dragon. He was massive, a demon of the night skies. Another deep roar and a burst of light filled the world—rolling red flames shot in hot jets.

Smaug was not happy.

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**A/N: Sorry I didn't update sooner. It was a ridiculous week. Please review!**


	56. Inside The Secret Passage

**Chapter LVI: Inside The Secret Passage**

We huddled in the safety of the secret tunnel. We clung together, our backs, our hands, our arms, our legs, all squished together in one space. No one dared venture too deep into the tunnel for fear of the deep, dark places in the world. We all peered over one another's shoulders, trying to see what the dragon was doing.

He torched the world. The forest was burning. The sky glowed a hideous orange-gray, the rolling clouds were illuminated by the crackling flames. Smaug caught sight of the Company's ponies. He snatched them up in his jaws and with a few snaps of his teeth, the ponies were no more.

I had no desire to see how Smaug punished us for Bilbo's burglary. I had seen more than enough of the dragon to last me a lifetime. I stood towards the back of the group, watching the dwarves clamor about, trying to get a good view of the burning forest. Bilbo and I stood at the back, both of us having seen the dragon before. My hands were thrust into the pockets of my jacket and I swayed my weight from one foot to the other. Bilbo watched me curiously for a second.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"Huh?" I stopped moving.

"How do you know about, about, about the birthday present?"

Oh. He was talking about the Ring. "I, you know, I'm me. Don't worry! I have absolutely no desire for the, um, birthday present. I have, um, plenty of birthday presents so I don't want to take your birthday present. And don't feel guilty about taking Gollum's birthday present because it wasn't his birthday present to begin with. People have done some vicious things for that birthday present and all I can say is—it's just a damn birthday present!"

Bilbo stared at me blankly.

"There was this one time when I was eight and I was having a birthday party and my mom got me this really cool scooter. Well, my next-door-neighbor, Lila, was jealous. So she slapped me and stole my scooter! And I was like—bitch, give that back. So I slapped her. Because she took my birthday present. And then—guess who got in trouble! Go on, guess who."

Bilbo blinked. "Uh…"

"Wrong! It was _me_. She stole my _birthday present_. I mean, I got the birthday present back. But I was yelled at because she was the guest and I was the host. Do you know how unjust the world is!? I just wanted to have my scooter back!"

"We were talking about the Ring," said Bilbo. "I do not see how this story has anything to do with the Ring."

"I doesn't," I said. "I just felt like telling the story."

"Oh. Well."

There a clap of thunder. At first, I first thought it was Smaug roaring, but when the rain started to pour, like billions of shards of glass tumbling from the sky. The dwarves backed away from the entrance of the tunnel as the water splashed over their shoes and legs.

"At least that'll put out the fire," I said.

"You are being unusually cheerful," said Fili.

"Yep," I said. "I'm quite the optimist. What was it? Always look on the bright side of life!"

"Optimist?" asked Gloin.

"It means you look at the happy things and ignore the sad, life threatening things in life."

"Have you transformed into an optimist?" asked Fili.

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "I've always been an optimist."

"Yes," said Thorin. "Because running away from trolls and telling them to eat _us_ instead is such an optimist reaction."

"I was very optimistic. I hoped they would eat you instead of me."

"Can someone remind me why we put up with her presence?" asked Balin.

"My good-looks and charm," I said, smiling.

The dwarves almost fell over themselves with rowdy laughter. Gloin slapped his knee and clutched his stomach. Ori clapped his hands excitedly while he laughed and Bombur chuckled so much that his layers of fat jiggled wildly. Thorin managed a smile. Hell, I was laughed at by _Kili_ of all people. _Kili_! You know you have reached the lowest of the low when Kili—that unmajestic, hairless rat—laughs at you.

"You're not going to say I'm ugly again, are you?" I asked gloomily. I think you could see a rain cloud hanging over my head.

"You are not ugly," said Bofur earnestly.

"Average," said Oin.

Gloin nodded. "Maybe slightly below average."

"I would buy you a drink," said Bofur.

"I would not," said Gloin. "It would be a waste of good gold."

"That is all you care about," said Bofur.

"You guys aren't helping my self-esteem!" I wailed.

"We are only keeping it in check," said Fili. "What would we do if your self-esteem ran wild? There would be no stopping it. The world as we know it would come to an end."

"It would put Smaug's wrath to shame," said Kili.

"Smaug is gone," said Dori abruptly.

The Make Fun of Ana Session came to a halt as the dwarves huddles around the entrance of the passageway and peered outside through the pouring rain.

"Where's he gone?" I took a few tentative steps towards the entrance.

"He has gone back into his lair," said Balin.

"Has he finished his temper tantrum then?" I asked.

"The forest is still burning," said Ori. "Should we go back outside?"

"Anywhere is better than this dank cave," grunted Gloin.

Thorin led the way out of the tunnel. We stood on the edge of the mountainside. The air was smoky and thick with ash. I coughed and covered my mouth and nose with my hands.

"This was a bad idea," I said.

"What was a bad idea?" asked Kili.

"Pissing off a dragon." I shivered as a gust of wind brought a splattering of icy rain into the passageway. "He's going to shish kebab us alive."

"What happened to being an optimist?" asked Thorin.

"It disappeared when I thought of death."

"I don't think that's very optimistic of you," said Fili.

"Well," I said. "You think of being burnt to a crisp by a dragon and we'll see how optimistic you are. Just think about it! The fire will burn. Fire does that! It's hot and painful and it burns until you're a little black French fry that been left in the oven for too long."

A sort of silence settled amongst the dwarves as they imaged this image. (Well, what they could comprehend of the image. I'm pretty sure the dwarves didn't know what French fries were.) It was actually Kili who broke the silence.

"I will just not be caught in the dragon's fire."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

Kili shrugged. "That is the best way, is it not, to avoid being burnt to a crisp? Do not get caught in the oven."

There was a pause. Then Dwalin let out a rumbling laugh. He pounded his chest with his fist and let out a mighty, dwarf-roar. Soon, all the others dwarves joined in, excited by Kili's words.

"No dragon will defeat us!"

"We will turn _him_ into a crisp!"

"Smaug's last days!"

"To the dwarves!"

"I think Kili is the true optimist," said Balin.

I crossed my arms. "Either that or he's really naïve."

"You're just jealous," said Fili, patting me on the back. "It is alright, though. We like you even though you are a pessimist."

"We came knowing that," said Thorin suddenly.

The dwarves stopped cheering and turned to stare at Thorin.

"We knew that we would have to face a dragon when we reached Erebor," said Thorin. "We knew what Smaug was capable of when we took on this quest. It did not hinder us. We will take on this dragon, if we must, to reclaim our home. We chose this path and we will not falter. We will walk forward with our heads held high. And when we come face to face with this monster, we will say, 'This is our home. You must leave.' And through our own power, we will defeat him. For that is the choice we made."

Another cry of triumph rose amongst the dwarves.

I raised my right hand into the air. "I didn't choose."

"You do not count," said Thorin. "You are coming whether you choose to or not."

"Why don't I get to choose?" I asked.

"Because you are not a dwarf."

"Bilbo's a hobbit."

"But he has majestic potential."

I shot a venomous glare in Bilbo's direction. "Damn you."

"I do not understand this logic," said Balin.

"It's simple," I said. "All dwarves have majestic potential. Thorin, being Thorin with a tragic past and perfect brooding looks, is the epitome of majesty. All majestic-wannabe's aim to achieve Thorin levels of majestic. However, only dwarves have majestic potential."

"Except Kili," said Thorin.

"Yes," I said. "Kili has no majestic potential. But other than him, all dwarves have majestic potential. Most never reach their majestic potential, but it exists. But, there are a few exceptions. The occasional hobbit or man has majestic potential. It's very rare, but it does happen. Bilbo is one of those rare cases. He has no achieved any distinct level of majesty, but he is capable of reaching some level of majesty. Not Thorin level of majesty, but some level. Aragorn is also a rare case. He's actually not born yet. But he will have majestic potential. Of course, no elf is a capable of majesty. They're just friggin' snobs."

"How did we reach this topic?" asked Nori.

"It is Ana talking," said Dori. "How do we not reach this topic?"

"Why can I not be majestic?" asked Kili.

Thorin patted his nephew on the shoulder. "It is a burden you were destined to bear."

"Thorin really enjoys the majesty, does he not?" said Bilbo.

"It is all Ana's fault," said Gloin.

I grinned sheepishly. "What can I say? His majesty is unforgettable."

"What is our next move?" asked Balin loudly. "Smaug has returned to his lair and we must draw him out again. How shall we do this?"

"Apparently he doesn't want to talk about majestic Thorin," I muttered.

"I do not know," said Thorin. "We must consider the options. Can we take back Erebor without drawing Smaug out?"

"We would have to kill him then," said Balin.

"How do we do that?" asked Dwalin.

"We have not figured that out yet," said Thorin.

"You don't know a lot of stuff," I said suddenly. Thorin gave me a deadly glare. (I did not know it then, but Thorin had never even considered the possibility of reaching Erebor until the dwarves actually stood on the foot of the mountain. He knew all too well the dangers of Mirkwood and Misty Mountains. Some part of him figured that the dwarves would perish long before they reached Erebor. Thorin had never actually considered how they would deal with what was inside. But like I said, I did not know that then. I just thought Thorin was being extremely stupid.)

"Smaug is difficult opponent," said Balin. "But he must have some weakness."

"What will drawing him out accomplish?" asked Thorin.

"We must discover his weakness," said Dwalin.

"But how will we do that?" asked Fili.

"I can try," said Bilbo.

We all turned to stare at the little hobbit. He shifted uncomfortably under everyone's stare. His hands fiddled uncomfortable with the hem of his jacket. "I am the burglar, am I not?" he said. "Perhaps I can talk to him and deceive him into revealing his weakness."

Thorin hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "You did draw Smaug out earlier. Perhaps you can anger him into revealing his weakness."

"Don't rely on your birthday present too much," I said.

"Birthday present?" asked Thorin.

I placed my finger to my lips and grinned at him. "Shush. It's a secret."

"What is?" asked Kili.

"I will depart now," said Bilbo. He made a show of turning around and walking away down the tunnel. He shot me a Don't You Dare Tell Anyone About The Birthday Present look before he disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone with the dwarves.

I sniffled and wiped a fake tear from the corner of my right eye. "There goes a brave little hobbit."

"What is his birthday present?" asked Thorin.

"What?"  
Thorin frowned. "What is his birthday present?"

"His what?"

"His birthday present."

"His birthday?"

"Present?"

"When's his birthday?"

"I do not know."

"You don't know a lot of things."

"That is not the point."

"You should know the birthdays of all the members of your company. It's common courtesy."

"What?"

"My birthday is October twenty-first."

"I do not want to know."

"Bilbo's birthday is September twenty-second."

Thorin took a deep breath and said rapidly, "Balin is January thirtieth. Ori is March sixteenth. Dwalin is March twenty-fifth. Gloin is April first. Kili is April twelfth. Oin is April twenty-second. Ori is June sixth. Dori is June twenty-ninth. Bifur is June thirtieth. Fili is August third. Ori is September second. Bofur is October twentieth. Gloin is November tenth. Nori is November twenty-fourth. Bombur is December sixteenth. And I am November third."

I nodded and said in one go: "Balin is an Aquarius. Ori is a Pisces. Dwalin is an Aries. So is Gloin. So is Kili. Oin is a Taurus. Ori is a Gemini. Dori and Bifur are Cancers. Fili is a Leo. Ori is a Virgo. Bofur is a Libra. Gloin is a Scorpio. Nori is a Sagittarius. So is Bumbur. You are a Scorpio and Bilbo is a Virgo. I'm a Libra, if you want to know."

"I do not want to know and I do not know what you are talking about."

"Star signs and horoscopes."

"You are strange."

"You are stubborn."

"You are a lost homeless girl."

"You are a stupid homeless king."

"You are more homeless than I am."

"I technically have a home. I pay rent. Though technically it's my parents money. Because I can't hold down a friggin' job. Because I Skip. God! Why does my life suck so much?"

"You are still homeless."

The other dwarves stood around the cave, squinting at us through the dark. The only light that filled the cave was from the gray, rainy outside. Thunder clapped and rain poured and Thorin and I kept throwing random insults at each other.

"I do not follow their conversation," said Ori. "Can someone translate for me?"

"I would translate it if I knew what they were saying," said Fili.

"I do not think they even know what they are saying," said Balin.

"SMAUG!"

"No," said Balin. "I do not think that is what they are talking about."

"SMAUG IS COMING!"

The shrill voice of Bilbo came from somewhere deep inside the mountain. Thorin and I stopped are arguing and turned to stare down the tunnel. At first, we could only hear Bilbo—the patter of his feet on the stone floor, the panting of his disappearing breath, the shouts drenched in petrified panic. And then, out of the shadows, the figure of Bilbo appeared. He gasped for breath and he came to a halt.

"Smaug," he said. "Smaug was…pretending to sleep. I managed…to talk to him. He revealed…his weakness. A scale… He is missing a scale. Shoot him…there. And…He will…die. But Smaug…is angry…now. He is coming."

"Coming?" asked Ori.

Bilbo did not need to answer. There was deep howl that cut through the rain and the thunder and filled the tunnel in which we stood. Eyes wide, we all turned to stare. Smaug had left the mountain.

"Where is he?" asked Dwalin.

"Does he know where we are?" asked Thorin.

"I do not think so," said Bilbo.

Another roar. Smaug was angry. There was a flash of thunder. A deep rumbling sound. It was neither a dragon nor the weather. But a deep, rolling sound that kept on going and going and going. The tunnel was still. We all listened cautiously. Trying to figure out what the sound was. And then, Oin realized.

"Avalanche!"

Boulders and rocks, knocked loose by Smaug, smashed into the secret entrance. The tunnel collapsed. I screamed. The dwarves scurried backward. Blackness. Dark. Falling rocks. Heavy world. Shouting voices. Black. Black. Black.

I Skipped.

* * *

**A/N: Don't hate me. I'll write more today. I promise. Please don't hate me. **

**Please review.**


	57. The Door To My Destiny

**LVII: The Door To My Destiny**

Why was the world so gray? There was a sliver of sky. It was blue. There was a rock sticking in my back. More than one rock. Kind of like I was lying in a bed of rocks. Or a mountain path.

I sat up and rubbed my aching back. A mountain path was right. I was sitting on the flat, narrow pathway. The ground was covered in small pieces of rocks that had probably broken off from the steep, stone cliffs that spanned upwards on my left and on my right. I was somewhere at the bottom of a mountain crevice, sitting amongst the forgotten rocks, sunless weeds and cobwebs.

I shivered. Cobwebs meant spiders. Hopefully little spiders. I'd had more than enough giant spiders that one person needed in a lifetime.

Wherever I was, I had never been here before. It was a barren mountain path. Gray, slated, and rather frightening. It felt…eerie. I guess that's the word I want. Eerie. Like a great shadow had fallen over the mountain, even though the sky was a bright blue. But the world seemed jagged and sharp. Kind of hazy, my eyes would not go into focus. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and shivered again. I wanted to Skip soon.

I got to my feet and started walking down the path. Perhaps that was the stupid thing to do. Perhaps it wasn't. Maybe if I had stayed in one spot, I would have just Skipped away and never had to witness the horrors that I did. Or maybe I wouldn't have Skipped away. Maybe I would have just stayed there until I starved to death and died on some unknown mountain path. I don't know. Whatever might have happened, I chose to walk forward. I think the reason was that I wanted to live. I couldn't die yet. There was so many things I would rather do than die on some unknown mountain path in the middle of nowhere. I still had to find out how my dad came to Ohio. I still had to find a steady boyfriend. There was so much left to do. No friggin' way was I starving to death.

So I staggered along the narrow, jagged pathway. The air was thick. I drew my arms up close to my chest so I would not accidentally touch any cobwebs. Why were the mountains so creepy? It's not fair! Mountains should be happy place where you can sing and dance to 'The Hills Are Alive'. There should be no scary cobwebs and little hairy spiders with eight legs that scuttled along the stone, watching you with their unblinking eyes. WAH!

A grating sound. I looked up just in time to see a flat rock tumbling down the side of the crevice. It bounced off the cliff walls. I screamed and leapt forward. The rock hit the ground and smashed into a thousand pieces, sending sharp shards flying in all directions.

"Oh my God," I said, clutching a hand to my chest and panting wildly. "That was close." I glared up at the sky. "This friggin' mountain is trying to kill me!"

No response.

I was half expecting a hole to open up in the rocks and the mountain would speak. It'd probably tell me that I'm paranoid.

I sighed and carried on walking. I kept glancing back at the broken rock.

The path made a sharp turn to the right and I followed it, my feet crunching against the rock shards. A chilly wind swept through the crevice, blowing my blond hair in all directions. I ran my fingers through the tangled mess and sighed. I turned the corner—and that's when I came face to face with the Door.

I can give it no name other than the Door. The Door is one of the greatest/worst things that happened to me. Some call it fate. Some call it fortune. Some call is karma. Thorin calls it dumb luck. I call it "All The Skipping's Fault."

The Door wasn't really a door, but more like a gaping hole in the side of the mountain. It was about two feet higher than me with a slanting frame. I would have thought it was naturally made except for the gibberish written above the door. I could make out what the signs said. There was an eye and a guy lying on the ground with a sick in his chest. Not idea what that meant.

There were only two choices that that point. Go forward—into that dark abyss of a door—or turn around and walk about the way I came. Now, I think at this point in the story, you have come to understand my character pretty well. So, it'll come as no surprise that I'm a friggin' coward.

I turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

But as I said, the Door was my fate/fortune/karma/dumb luck/All The Skipping's Fault. And, as destiny-or-whatever-you-want-to-call-it, I had to walk through the Door. So, destiny brought the mountain walls crashing down on me.

I'm not kidding. There was a deep, cracking sound. And then a grating. I looked up and saw three massive slabs of rock breaking off from the cliff walls and falling down, down, down towards my head.

I screamed.

And ran.

Right. Through. The. Door.

The Door disappeared from sight and I consumed in darkness. I don't know if the rocks crash the Door or the Door just disappeared, but whatever had happened, I was now sealed inside the mountain. I was trapped.

At first, I did not dare to move. I stood stock still in the darkness, breathing slowing and hoping my eyes would adjust to the pitch black. They did not adjust. There was no light. Just black. I took a deep breath. Step forward. My foot landed on the uneven, stone ground. It was not shelled pieces of rock, but a smooth, joint ground, bumping with rises and falls. Alright. First step was a success. I took another step forward. Whack. My face slammed into the wall.

"Ah!"

I clutched my nose and took a step backwards. I didn't think my nose was bleeding. Ow. Ow. Ow. It hurt.

"Okay," I said. "Not that way."

I stretched my arms out in front of me, like a zombie, and took a step to my right. Okay. So far there was no wall in that direction. I took another step. Safe. And another. Alright. This was getting easier.

Trip.

I fell—hands outstretched in front of me—onto the rough stone ground. My palms grated on the rocky surface and I lay there, face down, groaning as the pain ricocheted through my body.

"I hate my life," I said.

"Living flesh!"

A voice cut through the darkness like a cracking whip. The voice was sharp and clear. It filled the darkness with an icy chill and sent shivers running up and down my spine.

I tried to crawl away, but pain shot through my right arm and I let out a shriek of agony. I probably looked like a turtle, rolling around on the ground.

"I have not looked upon living flesh in an age."

I turtled my way across the floor. Suddenly, a heavy weight landed on my back. I think it was a foot. I screamed and pounded the ground with my good hand.

"I'm dead! I'm dead! I'm dead!" I cried. "You're mistaken! I'm dead as a doorknob. Dead. Dead. Dead. Let me go!"

"I have never witnessed a dead person talking so much."

"I'm a very emotional dead person and I have to let out my lingering feelings of hatred—don't judge me!"

The weight of the foot disappeared from my back and I rolled over to see my attacker. I screamed. He was no living being. His face had a white-green glow and his smoky flesh was rotten and skeletal. His wispy clothing was rags that had once been grand and a decrepit crown rested on his molding head. He was a ghost. I screamed again.

"A woman," said the ghost. He frowned. "I have no seen a living woman in even long a time."

"Don't hurt me," I said, shielding my face with my hands.

The ghost sniffed. "Do not cover your face. You are pleasing to look at."

"Huh?"

I lowered my hands slightly and stared at the ghost's molding, glowing face. You know, in an earlier time (before he died and rotted) he was probably very attractive. One of those strong featured men with charismatic faces. His hair was black strands. He didn't have any eyes (only empty eye sockets, but I assumed that they would have been blue. The only problem was that he was over six foot. I don't do over six foot.

"Sorry," I said, getting to my feet. "You're not my type."

"Your type?" asked the ghost.

"Dark hair, blue eyes, under six foot, defined features, muscular, cheerful personality." I paused. "And alive."

"I thought you were dead," said the ghost.

"I lied."

The ghost stared at me for a long moment. At least, I think he was staring at me. it was hard to tell since he had no eyeballs.

"You are entertaining," said the ghost. "Can I keep you?"

I swallowed. "I don't, um, keep well."

The ghost frown, his jawbone twisting a little to the right. "I do not understand."

"I don't keep well," I said, shrugging. "I mean, I can't even keep myself in one place—what makes you think that you can keep me?"

"I am a keeper," said the ghost. "I am the keeper of the halls of the dead."

I shuddered. "That's a nasty image. Blah! Don't ever say that again! Can't you be a little more cheerful?"

This time the ghost smiled, his rotten lips pulling back to reveal yellow-green teeth. "But you are cheerful enough for the both of us."

"Hold the phone!" I cried, raising on hand in the air. "Stop. Stop. Stop. There is no 'us'. Do not eve use the term 'us' again when referring to me. Nope. Stop right there. No. No. No. No. Not happening."

The ghost tipped his head to the side. "But I'm going to keep you. These mountains are dull when they are filled only by the dead."

"I told you!" I cried. "You can't keep me!"

The ghost stared at me through his empty eye sockets.

"I'm leaving," I said. I turned around and stared marching down the pitch black tunnel, the only light coming from the dim green glow of the ghost.

I got a whole three feet and then walked into a wall.

"Ow." I rubbed my aching nose and groaned.

"Are you lost?" asked the ghost. He moved closer to me and the light emitting from him fell upon the black-stone wall of the tunnel.

"I hate you," I said.

"I like you," said the ghost.

I glared at him.

"If you are searching for the exit," said the ghost. "You are moving in the wrong direction."

I turned around and a wide grin spread across my face. "You know the way out?"

"Of course," said the ghost. "I am the keeper of the halls of the dead."

"Wah! I told you not to use that phrase! Icky disturbing phrase! It makes me think of a morgue! Have you ever been to a morgue? All those cold, dead bodies. But what if one of them movies. Imagine it! You're there to see your deceased mother's body in the morgue and then she starts twitching! And then she jumps up and bites you—oh my God! She's a zombie! And she's bitten you! You're going to be a zombie too! I don't want to be a zombie! Do you want to be a zombie? Oh wait. You're already dead. But I'm young and I have so much to live for! I don't want to be a zombie!"

A deep, gravelly sound echoed through the darkness. At first, I thought more rocks were falling, but then I realized it was the ghost's laughter.

"You are without doubt entertaining," said the ghost.

"I just want to leave," I said.

"I will show you the way out," said the ghost. "But in return, you must entertain me. The mountain's bowels can be awfully dreary. Entertainment is best."

I considered this for a moment. "Deal." I held out a hand and then paused. "Can you shake hands? You're a ghost, right, so you shouldn't have a form. But then you stood on my back earlier. Can you shake hands?"

"I can only have form when I am performing a violent act," said the ghost.

"Oh." I dropped my hand to my side. "Well, anyway, I accept your terms. My name is Ana."

"I am King Raoulidor of Dunharrow." He turned and began to drift down the tunnel through the darkness. I followed him, using the light he emitted as a guide.

"King?" I asked. That would explain the crown on his head. I snorted. "So not majestic."

"Majestic?" repeated Raoulidor. He considered this. "I once laid eyes upon true majesty."

I rolled my eyes. "I doubt it. There is only one true source of majesty in the world. All others are just pale copies."

"He was a small person," continued the ghost without really paying attention to me. "Small in stature, but his charisma was overwhelming. He had a magnificent black beard and blue eyes—your type for sure. What was him name?"

"Was he a dwarf?" I asked.

Raoulidor nodded.

"Name Thorin?"

"Ah." Raoulidor seemed to glow more brightly. "That was him!"

I clapped my hands together and laughed. "No way! When did you see Thorin!?"

"He passed through my mountains," said Raoulidor. "Once. I remember. He was majestic. Even more so than the kings of old." Raoulidor sighed. "They do not create kings like that anymore."

"You know, Raoulidor," I said. "I think we're going to get along just fine. I might even be able to look past your decay and rot."

Raoulidor glanced over his shoulder and beamed at me, flashing his discolored teeth. "That is good to hear, Ana."

"We actually have a lot more in common than I thought. You like Thorin. I like Thorin, Your name is Raoulidor. I love the name Raoul. It's like destiny brought us together."

Raoulidor's glow intensified. "You think so too?"

"Yes," I said, nodding. "Destiny brought us together to form the Majestic Thorin Appreciation Club!"

Raoulidor's light dulled to an earthy green. "Oh…"

"We can make t-shirts and coffee mugs and bumper stickers and refrigerator magnets. Oh, and those little Pez dispensers with Thorin's head. And our slogan shall be—More Majestic Than You."

I stumbled a little on the uneven surface. Raoulidor did not seem to notice.

"What's up?" I asked. "You've gone all quiet."

Raoulidor took a deep breath. (Which was weird. Since he was dead.) "Are you in love with Thorin?"

I stared at Raoulidor's back for one… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… Ten seconds. Then. I burst out laughing. And it wasn't cute, dainty laughing—it was like an all out horse guffaw laugh. I clutched my sides and doubled over release a stream of wild mirth. "Me? Thorin?" My sides ached from laughing so much. "Oh that's good. That's good."

"But…"

I straightened up and instantly all the laughter died from me. "No."

"But…"

"Don't you get started on me too. I hear enough of this from Nick and I don't need it from you. Every time I see him, he's like—so have you and Thorin got together yet? And I'm like—Nick, I will kill everything that you love! Besides me. Because he loves me. But I'm not into the whole suicide thing."

"Nick? So he is the one you have feelings for?"

Cue more laughter. Aw, Raoulidor, your attempts to find out who I liked were so funny. And annoying. Stop. Just stop.

"I have one and only one love in my life," I said.

"Who?" asked Raoulidor.

"Gimli," I said, with a dramatic sigh. "He's my fiancé. We're going to get married and my bridesmaids are all going to be dwarves in pink fluffy dresses." I laughed. "Best. Wedding. Ever."

"Gimli?" Raoulidor seemed to wilt.

"He's an adorable little ginger dwarf," I said, pretending to pinch the invisible Gimli's cheeks. "I just want to gobble him right up."

"Gimli…"

Raoulidor came to an abrupt halt. I glanced around. Left and then right. From what I could see, we were standing on a smooth, flat stone floor. It was too neat to be constructed by natural, which meant man—or some creature who resembled man—had made it. For a moment, I wondered if Raoulidor and his people had made it when they were still alive. Raoulidor's light intensified in this area, illuminating the whole place. We were standing in a sort of stone courtyard. There was a staircase to my left, leading up to the ruins of a once grand building carved into the rock. To my right, there was a black pit. I could not see the ceiling or the other side of the pit.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"My halls," said Raoulidor.

"Kind of trashy," I said. "But hey—home is home."

Raoulidor didn't respond. He remained completely still in the middle of the courtyard, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

"So, where's the exit?" I asked.

Raoulidor slowly turned to stare at me. "Why would I let you go? I have been waiting for you for years—why would I let you go now?"

"_What_?" I screamed and leapt backwards.

"You said it yourself," said Raoulidor. "We were _destined_ to meet."

"Nope. Nope. I don't remember saying that."

"You spoke those words only a few moments passed," said Raoulidor.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes." Raoulidor took a deep breath. "It does not matter. You are mine. Forever. And ever. And—"

"Ana? Why are you in the halls of the dead?"

Gimli stood at the far end of the hall, illuminated in the orange light of the torch clasped in Aragorn's right hand. Legolas stood on Aragorn's other side, looking exceedingly bemused.

"These halls have become considerably less threatening," said Legolas. "Now that I see that Ana has come here and survived."

"Gimli! Araogrn!" I cried, rushing to them.

I was prevented from hugging them by the glowing green ghost king who glided between us. His eye sockets seemed blacker than before as his regarded Gimli.

"So this," he said, his gravelly voice rolling. "Is the dwarf, Gimli."

I laughed nervously as Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli turned to stare at me.

"How has he come by my name?" asked Gimli.

I scratched the back of my head sheepishly. "I may or may not have told a ghost who wants to 'keep' me that we're engaged."

As you can imagine, Gimli was not happy about that.

* * *

**A/N: I don't know if this chapter is even funny. I just wrote. **

**All reviews are appreciated. **


	58. A Frigging Legomance

**Chapter LVIII: A Frigging Legomance**

"We are not engaged," said Gimli.

His gruff voice seemed small in the vast cavern halls. The rock walls ascended into the blackness above out heads, the tops unseen. The only light that filled the dismal dark emitted from the pale green ghost king and the flickering torch that Aragorn held.

I gasped. "Honey! How could you say such a thing?"

"No," said Gimli. He drew his axe and pointed the sharp, curved blade at me. "No. Do not give this ghost any more ideas. We have entered no such agreement and you have lost your head."

"I still have my head… It's right here…" I turned to Raoulidor and sniffled. I buried my face in my and tried to hold back a sob. "Can you believe this? My fiancé. He doesn't love me anymore. I gave my heart to him and he throws it aside like a piece of worthless trash! He kicked it and stomped on it and put it in the dump with all the rotten banana peels and old tin lids."

"That swine!" cried Raoulidor, rounding on Gimli. His eye sockets flashed with a rage summoned from somewhere deep within his hollow skull. "I will tear out his beard and give his flesh for the ghosts of Dunharrow to feast upon so that he may join our cursed ranks."

I wiped the fake tears from my eyes. "That's a bit extreme."

"A bit?" Gimli's grip on the axe tightened. "I am going to be eaten by ghosts!"

"Control your admirer, Ana," said Aragorn, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Am I the only person who is impressed to learn that Ana has an admirer?" asked Legolas.

"Stupid elf," I muttered.

"Gimli is being the better man," said Legolas. "He has rejected your marriage for the sake of your greater love."

"That would be Richard Armitage."

"Who is this Richard Armitage?" asked Raoulidor. "I can feed him to the ghosts as well. They do not pick and choose who they devour. All flesh tastes the same."

I squeaked. "I was kidding about Richard Armitage! Don't eat him! His face is too pretty to be eaten!"

"Then you can remain here," said Raoulidor.

Gimli nodded earnestly. "I hope you two will be very happy together."

"The halls of the dead will make a lovely abode," said Legolas.

Raoulidor's green light glowed even more intensely than before, casting ghastly shadows across the smooth stone floor. I stared at the edges of he light until they reached the edge of the abyss. I glanced up and saw the faded faces of the dead. They were not fully visible, their lights were dimmed and pale, but the hazy shape of their features could be seen in the distance. Men, women, children, they were all rotten. Lesser copies of the original, Raoulidor.

"What has caught your eye?" asked Aragorn.

"I see dead people," I murmured.

"Does that happen normally?" asked Gimli.

"We all see dead people," said Aragorn. "A deceased ghost king is standing in front of us."

"I see more than one dead person," I said, still staring off in the distance where the eerie faces watched me. "Also, you guys suck. You can't even recognize a _The Sixth Sense_ reference."

"Reference?" asked Aragorn. "What are you referencing?"

"Tragedy," I said, shaking my head. "A real tragedy."

"Does she do this often?" asked Raoulidor.

"Yes," said Legolas. "It is rather irritating."

"You become accustomed to it after a while," said Gimli.

"Aw," I said, clapping my hands together and beaming at Gimli. "My hubby has learned to tolerate all my bad habits."

"Hubby?" repeated Raoulidor, his eye sockets flashing with a menacing green light.

"She is joking!" cried Gimli, gripping his axe.

"No, I'm not," I said.

Raoulidor's light grew even more violent and bright. The mold on his face grew more pronounced and I could see the bone beneath his translucent flesh even more clearly. Raoulidor opened his mouth and let out venomous hiss.

And those faces. The ones watching us from afar. They suddenly became very vivid. I could see everything—from their eye sockets to their bones—they were real. And they were rushing forward, like the march of an army.

A crooked smile crossed Raoulidor's face. "We have grown hungry over the years. Be it dwarf or elf or man, we will devour him."

I screamed. Legolas said something in elvish. Aragorn drew his sword. And Gimli… Poor Gimli. I should probably have apologized for inadvertently setting an army of the undead on him. Though, he _did_ reject me. On second thought, I'm not apologizing for anything.

The glowing army rushed forward, their faces distorted with death and their weapons raised. They were going to slice Gimli's head off. They were going to bite into his flesh with their rotten teeth. My ex-fiancé was going to die. It would be all over. No more short, elf-loving dwarf. No more arguments about who killed the most orcs. No more scathing side comments. No more dwarves in bridesmaid dresses.

Thank God for Aragorn.

That kingly ranger raised his sword, careful to display the writing on the side. Then, he stepped forward and lashed out at Raoulidor. Raoulidor did not know what hit him. Which makes sense. I don't think make ghosts expect to be threatened with a sword (they're kind of incorporeal, you know).

The ghost army froze—inches away from tearing Gimli to shreds. Legolas and I stood to the side, gasping for breath and gawking at the perfectly still ghost army. And there, in the middle of all the chaos, was Raoulidor with Aragorn's sword pressed against his throat.

"What is this?" choked Raoulidor. "Who dares to strike the King of the Dead?"

Aragorn gritted his teeth and dug the sword deeper into Raoulidor's ghostly throat. "One who will have your allegiance."

Raoulidor snarled. "The dead do not suffer the living to pass."

"You will suffer me!"

I coughed. "He does kind of have a sword pressed to your throat."

They ignored me.

Raoulidor spoke in deep, haunting tones. "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it. The way is shut. Now you must die."

Aragorn pressed the sword even closer to Raoulidor's throat. The ghost coughed and spluttered.

"You cannot kill me," said Aragorn. "I am Isildur's heir."

A heavy silence filled the halls.

"That line was broken," hissed Raoulidor.

"It has been remade." Aragorn pushed the ghost king backwards. Raoulidor stumbled, but managed to remain upright. Aragorn lifted his sword again so that Raoulidor and all the other ghosts could see it's full presence. "I am Isildur's heir. Fight for me! And I will hold your oath fulfilled! What say you!?

A kind of stillness filled the halls of the dead. The ghosts had stopped trying to attack Gimli and were now watching their king in helplessness. Gimli had taken a few nervous steps backwards and was trying to avoid the ghost's attention by hiding behind Legolas's elvish attractiveness. And me? Well, let's just say I was back to my old majestic-adoring self.

"I never thought I'd see the day," I said. "The amount of majestic potential in the room. Aragorn—when did you become so kingly? Can I take a picture and bring it back to Thorin so he can see what he has to compete with?"

I swear Legolas rolled his eyes. That damned pretty boy elf.

"Majestic?" repeated Raoulidor. "You call this ghost-threatening ranger—_majestic_? He does not have any majesty in comparison to Thorin Oakenshield."

"Well, yea," I said. "No one has majestic in comparison to Thorin Oakenshield. But Aragorn might be the closest I have ever seen. Can we just appreciate the potential majestic rivalry? I mean, just think about it. They'll both try to have all these majestic moments in the right lighting just to see if they can out-majestic each other. Wouldn't it be amazing? This is it! This is the dawn of Aragorn and Thorin's Majestic Showdown!"

Legolas groaned. "She is at it once more."

"At what?" I asked innocently.

"How do you know who Thorin Oakenshield is?" asked Aragorn.

"He passed by this way once," said Raoulidor. "He had questions concerning a stone."

"It's always a stone," I said, rolling my eyes. "When are dwarves not obsessed with stones?"

"For once," said Legolas. "I agree with you."

I gasped. "Oh my God! It's a sign of the apocalypse! The beginning of the end!"

Legolas nodded grimly. "Who knew the world would end in such a way?"

I shuddered. "In the halls of the dead."

"Well," said Legolas. "That part is not too surprising."

"It's not supposed to turn out like this!" I cried. "We're supposed to be polar opposites who hate each other and disagree about everything. I hate elves! I cannot agree with one!" I gasped. "I'm having an identity crisis!"

Legolas froze, a sudden look of horror crossing his flawless face. "Maybe I am not actually an elf."

I screamed. "You'd better not be a dwarf!"

"I am too tall and too fair to be a dwarf," said Legolas. "But perhaps I am a man."

"Really?" I asked. "I always thought you were a woman."

Aragorn whacked me over the top of the head with his fist. "Do not confuse Legolas any more than he is. Legolas is most definitely an elf."

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. "We will keep our agreement to a one-time occurrence, then."

I nodded. "Agreed."

We both paused as the realization if what had just happened for a second time in the time period of five minutes.

"We are moving on from that topic," said Aragorn loudly. He turned to face Raoulidor. "We are here to discuss the fulfillment of your oath."

Raoulidor was not paying attention to Aragorn, but was watching Legolas and me. He was trembling with rage, his bones rattling as he looked on with a silently burning anger. He ground his yellowed teeth together, making a dreaded grating sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"What?" I asked, spinning around to glare at Raoulidor. "What's your problem?"

"So," said Raoulidor in his deep, menacing voice. "Your true lover has revealed himself."

"True lover?" I repeated. I glanced at Gimli. Gimli shook his head. I glanced at Aragorn. Aragorn shook his head. I glanced at a ghost. The ghost shook his head. Slowly, I turned to stare at Legolas. Legolas was staring at me. I think I vomited a little inside my mouth.

"Oh my God!" I cried, leaping away from Legolas. "What kind of things are you imagining, Ghost King! Me? And an elf? I'd rather die!"

Legolas shuddered. "I would rather marry a dwarf."

"I'd rather marry a corpse!" I cried.

"Do not pretend," roared Raoulidor. "Your lovers'-spat was on display for all eyes to behold! My ghosts will rip your elven-lover to shreds and you shall spend an eternity in these halls until you age and turned to bone."

And the, Raoulidor unleashed his ghostly army upon us.

That glowing, rotten, boney ghostly army with their sharp weapons and terrifying faces. They leapt forward and swung their swords.

I screamed.

"Run!" roared Gimli.

We ran.

Legs pumping. Our chests heaving. Gasping for air. Sweat dripping. Oh, we ran like an army of ghosts was after us. (Which it was.) Aragorn led the way through the twisting stone tunnels with Legolas hot on his heels. Gimli and I brought up the rear.

"Why?" gasped Gimli. "Of all the Middle Earth peoples who could have loved you, why did it have to be the Ghost King?"

"It's not like I get to pick and choose!" I cried.

"This was our only hope of victory," said Aragorn, jumping over a fallen boulder.

"Sorry!" I cried. "I wasn't on purpose! If you want I can still try and seduce him into helping you!"

"I think we have passed that point," said Aragorn. "He now thinks you and Legolas are lovers."

(I think both Legolas and I had to take a minute aside to hold back the rising vomit in our throats.)

"No," I said. "Just no. There are many twisted and demented things I can tolerate, but a friggin' Legomance is not one of them! That's just sick! Sick and disgusting and evil and demented—who could do such a thing!? Who does Raoulidor think I am? Some blond bimbo named Fiothiel Cartel Autumn who drools over Legolas's elven ways!"

"Can I refer to you as Fiothiel from this day forth?" asked Legolas.

"No!"

"Where are the ghosts?" asked Aragorn, coming to a sudden halt. Legolas came to an easy stop behind him and Gimli managed to prevent himself from running into the other two. I, on the other hand, tripped and slammed into Gimli, knocking him over into Legolas.

"Watch where you are going, Fiothiel!" snapped Legolas. (Damn him.)

"Ghosts?" asked Gimli, looking behind us. "They are not following us anymore."

I picked myself up off the ground and glanced about. We were no longer standing in a dark, narrow tunnel, but on the ledge of a deep, wide pit. I could only see the top of the deep, stone sides of the pit, only a few feet down and the rocks disappeared into darkness. I took a step away from the ledge and pressed my back to the steep wall on the right—as far away from the certain death as I could get.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Gimli.

"The exit must be near," said Aragorn.

"I hear something," said Legolas.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice unnaturally high-pitched. "Is my fanboy back?"

Legolas' light eyes flitted left and right. Then, startled, he spun around and looked up. "Watch out!"

I glanced up too and saw what had started Legolas. Skulls. Thousands and thousands of skulls came tumbling down the steep wall. They were an army of their own, bouncing and tumbling with the sound of heavy rainfall and they fell down towards us, ready to knock us off our feet and send us crashing into the pit behind us. Never to be seen again.

"Hold on!" roared Aragorn.

"What to?" I asked.

The first skull hit me in the head—Skip.

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**A/N: What is this? A Legomance? **

**Let me see, there was some stuff I wanted to say to you...**

**1) So, I plan on making this a two part story. Right now we're still on part one (haha this is going to be a loooong story). However, I wanted to give names to my parts. I just haven't figured out what to name them. If you have any ideas of names for Part One, please let me know!**

**2) Oh yeah. So, Galin's story. I'm not telling you yet.**

**3) Please Review. **


	59. The Sorrowful Tale Of Ian The Skull

**Chapter LIX: The Sorrowful Tale of Ian The Skull**

I was lying on my back with a skull on my stomach. I opened my eyes. In the dim light of the moon, a skull's empty sockets stared at me. I stared back at the empty sockets. It was an intense moment, I tell you.

"I shall name you Ian," I said.

The skull did not approve or disapprove of my name choice, so I assumed it was acceptable.

"Ian," I said. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

He did not respond. I guess he was directionally challenged as well.

I sat up, placing a hand on the back of Ian's head to prevent him from rolling off my stomach. We were sitting on a cobblestone road placed into one of the curving hillsides of Hobbiton. In the distance, I could see the lights of the town as the nighttime festivities took place. A couple lone hobbits wandered the pathways back to their hobbitholes, but there was no one near me. I got to my feet, keeping Ian propped up in my right hand.

"Have you ever been to Hobbiton before?" I asked.

I used my right hand to shake Ian's head from side to side.

"I didn't think so," I said. "I've been a few times before. This is where I first met the Company. I was here for Frodo and Bilbo's birthday too. The one where Bilbo decided to disappear of the face of Middle Earth and then show up later in Rivendell."

Ian stared at me blankly.

"I guess you don't know much about the world," I said. "Being stuck in the mountainside for so long. That must have been boring. I wonder if you're a ghost now. Probably. Probably one of the ghosts who tried to kill me on Raoulidor's orders. Shame. You know, you're a very good-looking skull. I bet you had all the female skulls drooling over you back in the mountains." I gasped. "What if you had a female skullover! And I took you away from your one to skullove! Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I should never have taken you away from that. It wasn't on purpose! I am not Ana the Skullove Breaker! I just kind of…Skipped. It happens. Sorry."

I swear Ian was glaring at me.

"I'm sorry!"

So there I was. Standing on a cobblestone road in Hobbiton, clutching a skull, bawling my eyes out, and apologizing over and over again for tearing apart such a beautiful skullmance—when who should come wandering down the road? Go on—guess. Guess! Guess! Why aren't you guessing? Fine. I'll tell you. It was you. You, stupid you came walking down the road.

And you saw me. You stopped walking and you just kind of stared at me for a really long time. I didn't see you at first, I was too busy apologizing to Ian. It wasn't until I had calmed down a little and stopped apologizing over and over again that I realized you—dressed in your travelling clothes—were watching me

"Ah!" I dropped Ian. He struck the cobblestone with a loud clack and lost a piece of his skull. He rolled a few feet away from me before coming to halt a little ways away. I screamed and chased after Ian, scooping him up into my arms. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

You stared.

I clutched Ian to my chest and stroked his skull, trying not to touch the chip in the back of his head in case it hurt him. I spun around to face you. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

You stared at me for a long time. "I could ask you the same question."

I glanced down at Ian and then back up at you. "I promise that I'm not insane."

You nodded slowly. "If you say so. Though it usually implies the opposite when you have to say it out loud."

I considered this and then nodded. "True. It'd be like a serial killer going up to a house, knocking on the front door, and saying—please let me in, I promise I'm not a serial killer. That just screams _suspicious_."

There was a pause. I wasn't sure what I should say to you. I wasn't sure what time it was, so if I talked to you it might mess up everything. But I couldn't not talk to you. You didn't seem like you knew me. Though maybe you did. I really didn't know and I don't think you knew if I knew either so we had this whole game of Who Knows? going on and it was weird.

It was you who broke the silence. "Why do you have a skull?"

"Huh?" I glanced down at the ball of bone in my hands. "Skull? You mean Ian. There's a long story behind this."

You stared at me.

"I was being attacked by an army of ghosts because their king was jealous that I might have a romance with an elf." (I mimed throwing up.) "But since I'm the Skipper—I can move through time and space and worlds—I managed to disappear before the avalanche of skulls they unleashed on me knocked my into a bottomless pit." I paused. "That's the true story, I promise."

You stared.

"You had to have been there!" I cried.

"I am going to keep walking," you said.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

You started walking past me on the cobblestone path, but you paused when I said that. You glanced at me for a moment, as if debating whether or not to answer, but then you say, "You'll find out soon enough." And you started walking away again.

"Find out what?"

You stopped again, but this time you didn't turn around to face me. You just kind of stared off into the distance at the light of Hobbiton, but I don't think you were seeing the lights. You were thinking of something else.

"You talk too much," you said.

I shrugged and nodded. "Well, yeah. But find out what?" I blinked. You were gone. I didn't know where you went to or why, but you had disappeared. Gone. Poof. Like magic.

I picked up Ian and stared into his eye sockets. He stared back.

"Well that was awkward," I said.

I moved Ian's head up and down to make agreement.

"He's not always that weird," I told Ian. "We must not have met yet. Or he didn't recognize me. I don't know. But things aren't usually that awkward. Promise."

Ian stared at me blankly.

"Don't judge me," I said.

Ian didn't respond. He sat on the palm of my hand, silently judging me.

I groaned and plopped down on a patch of grass just to the side of the road. My legs were stretched out in front of me, resting on the uneven stones. Ian was placed on my knees, watching me carefully.

"Don't worry," I said. "If the Skipping wants me to meet someone, it'll bring me there or make me go there. I really have no control. I just sort of come and go as the Skipping pleases."

Ian didn't respond.

"You're bored, aren't you," I said.

I nodded Ian's head up and down in the form of a 'yes'.

"Well," I said. "We have two options. One—we can go exploring. But we're in Hobbiton and, to be honest, there's not much to explore in Hobbiton. Unless you want to go party. We could get drunk with the hobbits!"

Ian stared at me.

"Oh right," I said. "You're dead. You can't get drunk. Well, then, that leaves option number two—I entertain you."

Ian stared.

I laughed and pressed my right hand to my cheek. "Not that kind of entertainment!" I giggled and waved at hand at Ian. "Stop it, you're making me blush. You pervert."

Ian didn't stop staring.

I placed a hand over his eyes.

"Don't look at me with such naughty eyes!" I cried.

So there I was. Sitting on the side of a cobblestone road with a skull in my lap, chatting to the skull like it's no big deal, and scolding the skull for being a pervert. When who should walk up? You.

You stared. And stared. And stared. (I'm beginning to see parallels between you and Ian.) I stopped what I was doing and lifted my head to stare back at you. I hesitated and then a wide grin spread across my face.

"Are you lost?"

"I wanted to see if the insane girl was still sitting on the roadside with her skull."

"Ian," I said.

"Of course. What are you doing here?"

"Waiting," I said.

You frown. "Waiting for what?"

"For the Senturiel."

"Is it coming anytime soon?"

I shrug. "Maybe now, maybe not for a year. I never really know when it comes. It just sort of comes. It's like magic. I could be part of a travelling circus. The amazing, disappearing girl. Poof. She's gone. Except it's somewhat inconsistent. So half the people will demand refunds when it doesn't work."

"Does it usually work?"

"Usually. There was one time where it happened to late and I got a bullet in my chest." I rolled my eyes. "Bled a lot. I almost died."

"You almost died?" You seemed surprised to hear it.

"I know, right. Of all the things to almost kill me—not an arrow, not a sword, not a knife, not getting hit by a car, not jumping off a building, not getting stampeded by horses—it was a gun. A frigging gun. What are the odds?"

You shake your head. "You are insane."

"Probably," I said, getting to my feet. I was careful not to drop Ian this time, and with him perched on the palm of my hand, I said, thoughtfully, "Poor Ian. He was torn ruthlessly from his home and his skullover and forced to come with an insane, majestic-obsessed girl to Hobbiton. The Sorrowful Tales of Ian the Skull. And this does not even include the chapter of his death and the chapter where his parents refuse to acknowledge that he and his girlfriend are skullmates."

You stared at me for a long moment. Then, a slow smile made its way onto your face and you shook your head. You laughed as you started walking down the path again. "You have not changed."

I blinked. "You remember me?"

You didn't stop walking. "You are impossible to forget."

"Hey!" I shouted. "Hey! Come back!"

You didn't come back. And, before I could make up my mind as to whether to chase you or not, you disappeared.

I groaned. "Great. He's such a troll."

I sat back on the grass, but as I moved to do so, I fumbled with Ian and—crash—I dropped him. He landed on the grass (at least he didn't break this time) and then rolled backwards down, down, down the hillside slope.

Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I stood completely still. For a moment, I watched him tumble down the grassy slope.

"Ian! Stop!"

He didn't hear me. He just kept rolling down the slope, further and further away from me.

I screamed as Ian disappeared from my side forever.

Since I Skipped soon after the loss of Ian, I didn't find out the rest of the story until Frodo told me quite a while later. I'll have you know that the hobbits discovered Ian in a flowerbed a week later. A little hobbit woman was watering her petunias, when she caught sight of him. She ran for help and little hobbit version of police showed up. The skull was bigger than any hobbit head, so they deduced that one of the Big People had been murdered in Hobbiton and his body had been dumped in Hildifons Took's flowerbed. The only problem was that no one had seen any Big People in Hobbiton for so long. The hobbit-police decided that the murder must have been an outside job and they investigated the case no further. However, the murder of Ian went down as one of the greatest murders Hobbiton had ever seen.

See, I'm a part of Hobbiton's history. They should put me in the museum display case right next to Ian and title the exhibit The Sorrowful Tale of Ian The Skull. I think it'll be a hit.

* * *

**A/N: Can this go down as the weirdest chapter in the history of weird chapters? Yes? Okay. I have no idea where this came from and I didn't intend for the chapter to be anything like this. Oh well. I might have just given away who "You" is entirely. It would suck if I did, but oh well.**

**And I just updated twice in one day.**

**Also, on my word document, this story is no 402 pages long. WHOOOOOO! **

**Let's celebrate by reviewing! **


	60. A Trip To The Tropics

A/N: THIS STORY MADE IT TO THE FIRST PAGE OF THE MOST REVIEWED STORIES! Oh my God! I love you all! Every single one of you who has ever reviewed - I LOVE YOU! I would sit down and type out all your names, but I just don't have time for that, so I'll just love you all and updated.

I would dedicated this chapter to you, but this isn't the happiest chapter (sorry). 

Read and review and most importantly, ENJOY!

* * *

**LX: A Trip To The Tropics**

I have never been inside of a volcano, but the scorching black stone of Mordor was exactly what I pictured the center of a volcano to feel like. I was standing completely still—no effort required—and I was sweating. Beads of salty water trickled down from the rots of the hair to my forehead. My skin stuck together and the world felt sluggish and hazy. A thick black smog filled the air, seeping into every pore of my skin, mingle with my sweat, so the world felt of heat and burning. Oh yes, this was exactly what I thought the inside of a volcano ought to feel like.

"Whew, Mamma," I said, fanning myself with my right hand. "Next time could you Skip me to the tropics or something."

Mordor (though I did not know that I was in Mordor at the time) was nothing like the tropics. The beaches were replaced by hot, black slabs of rocks that ran across the span of Mordor like a jagged, hilly terrain. There was no glistening ocean water, but rather black smog that rose from the glowing volcano in the center of Mordor. There was none of the freeness, wide-openness of beaches. With black mountain walls that framed Mordor, the fiery landscape seemed more like a prison.

I stood on a sort of long, flat ledge that sudden dipped off into a steep slope that I could not see the bottom of. I looked around, but there was no other living creatures insight. Not even an insect or spider. (I shuddered at the thought.) I was completely alone in this black land. At least, that was what I thought. And then, this deep, thunderous roar rose up amongst the dark smog. It was an evil roar. The kind that writhe your insides and make you want to curl up in the fetal position and never come out.

For a second, I just stood there, struck with raw, trembling terror. Then, slowly, slowly, slowly, I inched towards the edge of the slope.

Down. Below. Orcs. Thousands. Upon. Thousands. Orcs. Armed. Dangerous. Hungry. Orcs. Right. There. Below. Me.

Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, I told myself. Okay, okay. It's okay.

(Obviously, it wasn't okay.)

I would just go to my happy place. My happy place.

In the tropics.

On a beach.

Where there was sand between my toes and the salt water rippled along the shoreline and covered my feet for a second, before sliding back out and leaving me a little sunken into the soaked sand.

Hmmm… Let's put the dwarves on the beach too.

In swimsuits.

Can you imagine that? I think it'd be hilarious.

We'd play a game of beach volleyball. I'd be on a team with Bofur because every time I screwed up, he'd still compliment me and tell me everything was okay. Thorin's team would win (obviously) their majesty would blind all the other teams. You know. Since we're in my happy place, we don't have to limit it to the laws of time and space. Let's bring the Fellowship to the beach too. Gimli and Legolas would be one kickass volleyball team, but Aragorn and Thorin would win every time. Hm. And while we're at it, let's bring Eomer, Eowyn, Faramir, Arwen, Dorthin, Taysend, and Gaenry.

Eowyn and Arwen would be sun tanning with me. And—if I might add—since this is my happy place, I look a million times better in a bikini than they do. (Now you _know_ I'm dreaming.) And Gimli would be sun tanning too. He's be lying on his back on a pink towel with shades on, letting the sun soak his hairy ginger chest.

Oh! And Bonnie and Nick would be there. And Raoul. Raoul would be shirtless. (He may be gay, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate his abs.)

Dorthin, Taysend, and Gaenry would be learning how to make hotdogs from Bombur (who'd be barbequing us some lunch). They'd have brought the beers and soon the drinking games would begin. Gimli and Legolas would have a rematch while Eomer, Bonnie, and Nick placed bets. Then, I'd get to watch as Aragorn flirted with Arwen and Eowyn flirted with Aragorn and Faramir flirted with Eowyn. It would be the most entertaining love square. Oh, and I'd finally get to see what Thorin is like when he's drunk.

Yep. It would be a perfect vacation in the tropics. Or, rather, it would be a _majestic_ vacation in the tropics.

"Ana?"

I was wrenched out of my happy place by the sound of my name in this barren wasteland. I spun around and saw two stout orcs waddling across the flat stones.

Two thoughts ran through my head simultaneously: 1) Oh crap. Orcs. Better Run. 2) Why do they know my name? Is this another Skipping trick?

I acted on the first thought and turned tail. I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, praying to dear God that the orcs didn't find me interesting enough to chase. I only got a few steps—my feet slapping on the flat, black stone—before the broader, stouter of the two orcs called out my name again.

"Ana! Ana, wait! It is us!"

I spun around and stopped dead in my tracks. The two orcs had taken off their helmets and instead of the purple-black, distorted faces of orcs, I saw the thinned faces of two weary hobbits. Frodo and Sam.

I gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Um." Frodo frowned as if unsure how to answer. "We have been trying to reach Mordor for a long time."

"Mordor?' I glanced behind me at the volcano sprouting black smoke. "Oh. That makes sense. I didn't think Mordor would be so hot."

"What did you think it would be like?" asked Sam.

"Oh, you know." I was fanning myself with my hand again. "White sand beaches where you just have to chuck the ring in a tide pool with the crabs."

Frodo stared at me for a moment, trying to decide if I was serious or not. Then, he sort of gave in and said, softly, "No. It is nothing like that."

"Where have you been?" asked Sam. "The last I saw of you, Shelob attacked us; I thought you were lost for good."

I blinked. "Really? It's been that long?"

"That was about ten days ago," said Sam.

"Really? That was a _long _time ago for me," I said. "Almost half a year maybe. I've turned twenty-two now."

Frodo and Sam exchanged confused glances.

"I have a _weird_ timeline," I said, sighing. "Just go with it." I grinned at their bemused expressions. "So what have I missed in the last ten days? Why are you two dressed like orcs?"

Sam took a deep breath. As I regarded them properly now, I realized that they were worn to the bone. Dark shadows had appeared under their eyes and their faces had taken to an almost skeletal look. They seemed haunted. Not just with hunger and exhaustion, but with a burden that needed no name. Frodo seemed to be only half in this world, his blue eyes looking at me without really looking.

"Frodo was taken by orcs," said Sam, his eyes fixated on the ground. "I took it for a short while, so they did not find it." (There was no need to elaborate on what _it _was.) "We managed to escape the orcs, but we figured it would be best to proceed in disguise."

"Fair enough," I said, nodding.

"What have you been doing for the past half year?" asked Frodo.

"Oh," I said, scratching the back of my head and grinning. "You know me. Neither here nor there. Just passing through. I actually did see you. At yours and Bilbo's birthday party. Let's see. I went to my happy place, but it was being renovated and I wasn't allowed in. I rode an eagle, stopped Thorin from being stupid, ran into Smaug again, got shot by a gun, cried a lot, confessed about my Skipping to my parents, and then found out that my Dad's from Bree, but I have no idea the rest of the story because I Skipped right after he said that."

"Your father is from Bree?" asked Sam.

I nodded. "No idea how that happened so don't ask."

"Who would have foresaw such a thing?" Sam shook his head. "It is a shame you do not know the rest of the story. Have you seen him since then?"

I rolled my eyes. "Nope. Been stuck in Middle Earth. Apparently, the Skipping doesn't want me to know the rest of the damned story."

"That is too bad," said Frodo, picking his words carefully.

"Meh." I waved away Frodo's words. "That can wait. The real tragedy is how many episodes of _The Vampire Diaries _I'm missing. And this is the season of Klaroline! Do you know what it's like to be anticipating the romance between those two—Klaus, the badass villain and Caroline, the blond vampire who constantly rejects him even though she's the only person her cares about but he pretends not to, but everyone knows it including her—only for the Skipping to be like—Bam—nope, not sending you home until all the Klaroline episodes have passed! And the writers have decided to give the two of them new romances! What a jerk the Skipping is! Why? Why must it do this to me!?"

Frodo and Sam stared at me.

"_The Vampire Diaries_," I said, shrugging. "You have to have seen it."

"Of course," said Sam.

"So," I said, clapping my hands together. "What are we doing now?"

Frodo and Sam glanced at one another before turning back to me. Neither one of them seemed thrilled in what they had to say next. It was Sam who took up the burden however, and he said, "We have to cross."

I followed his line of sight and turned to see the vast expanse of Mordor, infested with shrieking orcs and other monstrosities I would prefer not to mention, all the way to the jagged mountain of red fire. Slowly, I turned back to Frodo and Sam.

"You've got to be joking."

Sam shook his head. "That has been my response to the whole journey."

"That's been my response to my whole life," I said.

Frodo sighed. "Are we turning this conversation into a contest of whose life is more miserable?"

"No," said Sam.

"Frodo's just being arrogant because he would win in a heartbeat," I said.

"It is not something to be proud of," said Frodo. "To win in a game of misery."

"Please," I said, waving away his comment. "Everyone wants to have the most miserably story. It's not that you necessarily enjoy being miserable, but you want to be more miserable than everyone else. It's nice to be _more_ than everyone else, you know. Like when someone is telling their sop story and you're secretly thinking—well, my story is more tragic than theirs. But you can't say it, because that would be rude. So you keep silent and pretend that their tragic story is important. Even though it's not. Because yours makes theirs look like a trip to the tropics. And don't you feel a little bit of triumph? Knowing that your problems are worse than theirs, so you _win_. I don't know what you win, but you _win_. And that's what matters."

Frodo and Sam stared at me blankly.

"What?" I asked.

"I do not understand a word of what you just said," said Sam.

"Come on," I said. "Don't make me look like I'm the only one who thinks that way!"

"How often do you 'win'?" asked Frodo.

I glanced at him and a slow smile crossed my face. "Ninety-nine times out of a hundred."

I laughed. At first, I tried to hold it in, but the giggles sneaked out of my mouth. And suddenly, I was doubled over, clutching my stomach. My whole body trembled with the laughter. It took over me like a feverish plague. I was practically rolling around on the ground, while Frodo and Sam stood over me, gawking, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

And then, Frodo was laughing too.

I doubt he even knew what he was laughing at. A huge smile spread across his travel-worn face. The shadows of earlier had seemed to lighten a little as he laughed.

When Frodo laughed, Sam laughed as well.

There the three of us were, in the middle of Mordor, surrounded by legions of orcs, laughing our heads off like there was no tomorrow.

Never underestimate the power of laughter.

Never underestimate the power of legions of orcs either.

Our laughter eventually died away and we regained our breath, gasping and still letting out the occasional mad giggle.

"I do not know what was so funny," said Sam.

"Who knows, who cares?" I shrugged. "The point is, I feel loads better and I didn't even have to take a trip to the tropics to adjust my mood."

"Why do you keep mentioning a trip to the tropics?" asked Sam.

I never got a chance to answer his question.

A whip cracked.

At first, I thought a gun had gone off. I don't know why. The two don't sound all that similar. But, for a second, I envisioned a gun firing and a bullet slamming into my chest again. I panicked and leapt behind Sam.

Thankfully, neither hobbit seemed to notice. They turned to stare along the flat stone ledge. A group of orcs was moving along. They were arguing amongst themselves, chattering in the despicable language of Mordor. The massive, shirtless blue orc in the front was holding a black whip. His squinty eyes kept surveying the group of riled orcs.

"Quick!"

Sam and Frodo hurried to put on their orc helmets, completing their disguise.

I stood behind them, eyes wide with worry. I didn't have a disguise. I would be recognized right away. And killed. If I didn't managed to Skip away first. Because there's no guarantee of that happening.

The whip cracked again and the orc shouted something I could not understand, but the language sent shivers of disgust and dread down my spine.

"What should I do?" I asked in a frantic whisper. I cowered behind Frodo and Sam as the orcs drew closer.

"Here," said Frodo, grabbing hold of my right arm. "We shall pretend you are our prisoner and we are taking you to be interrogated."

"Ah!" Sam grabbed my other arm, the metal of his orc arms grating against my skin. "Excellent idea, Mister Frodo."

"You're hurting me," I said, trying to pry Sam's armor away from my skin.

"I am terribly sorry!" said Sam, releasing my arm.

"We are orcs, Sam," said Frodo. His eyes flickered to the side where the orcs were drawing closer. They had caught sight of us. "I apologize, Ana, but we must be rough."

"Man," I said as Sam caught hold of my arm again. My heart was racing. "Why do I always get the crappy end of the deal?"

I could see the traces of Frodo's smile beneath his metal helmet. His voice was slightly uneven. "You are the one who wishes to 'win' the most tragic story."

"And now you see why," I grumbled.

The orcs came to a halt right in front of us. My heart stopped. They were even uglier up close. They had deformed and mutilated faces, blackened and blued—as if their meaty bodies were coated in thick bruises. They looked puffy and out of shape, made hideous by the jagged armor that covered their bodies.

I shuddered. Frodo had managed to hold himself steady, but the hand that Sam used to grip my arm was trembling slightly. His metal armor scraped against my exposed skin. I didn't say anything though. I barely felt anything. My eyes were fixed on the fat orc with the whip.

He snapped something in the foul language.

Frodo took a deep breath. "We are taking her to the Black Tower."

The orc narrowed his eyes and regarded Frodo suspiciously. He said something in the language of Mordor again.

"Mind your own business," said Frodo. (Dear God, I hoped what he was saying made some sort of sense with what the orc was saying.)

The orc seemed confused for a second. "What makes this one so special?"

"Are you deaf? Mind your own business," snapped Sam.

The orc glowered at Sam and then at Frodo and finally at me.

"Hi," I said. I would have waved, but Frodo and Sam had my arms pinned down.

"Hello," said another of the orcs. He waved at me.

The orc with the whip spun around to glare at his comrade. The other orc shrugged. "You should be nice to people who are going to die."

I squeaked. "Die? That's not really necessary. I'm terrified of pain. Ask me a few questions and I'll answer. The whole death thing isn't really necessary. Honestly. Please don' kill me."

The group of a dozen or so orcs stared at me. For a moment, they just seemed puzzled. Then, wide grins spread across their deformed faces and they laughed. Orcs laughing is a terrifying thing. They looked even more demented than before and their laughter sounds like sandpaper on stone or nails on a chalkboard. A sound I could spend my life without hearing and be perfectly happy.

"Is that a—we like this girl because she makes us laugh so we're not going to kill her laugh?" I asked, hopefully.

The orc with the whip smiled. "No, we are laughing because we're going to kill you even more now."

"You can kill someone even more?" I asked.

"More painful," said another orc.

I shrieked. "Okay, okay, okay, okay. I think we need to negotiate this."

"Ana," said Frodo, tugging on my arm a little. "Quiet." He turned to the orcs. "Let us pass."

The orc with the whip, surveyed Frodo suspiciously. Then, he stepped to the side to allow us passage. Frodo stepped forward first, dragging me along beside him and Sam bringing up the rear. The group of orcs were watching us suspiciously, wild amusement in their faces. My heart was racing again. They leered at me, enjoying the thought of my agony and suffering. Oh my God! They were creepy! What kind of Dark Lord events orcs? Wah! They smelled foul and they looked like rotten meat and, and, and—Ah!

Just as Sam stepped passed the orc with the whip, the orc reached out and caught hold of Sam's helmet. Sam let out a cry and the orc yanked the helmet off Sam's head, revealing Sam's brown curls.

I screamed.

"I knew it," hissed the orc.

And then he cut off Sam's head.

Just like that.

He swung his sword.

Just like that.

And Sam was dead.

Just like that.

I screamed. My scream broke through my throat, blistering and painful. But I couldn't stop screaming.

The other orcs leapt forward, their weapons' raised.

One of them drove his sword through Frodo's chest. Blood. Everywhere. Like a blooming flower on the slopes of the blackened volcano. Frodo's eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed on the rocky ground, his head inches from my foot.

Skip.


	61. Trying and Failing To Save The World

**LXI: Trying And Failing To Save The World**

I was kneeling in a grassy field. I didn't know where and I didn't know why. Blue skies rolled over me, cloudless and flawless. I barely noticed. My breathing came in quick, ragged breaths.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

Frodo and Sam were not dead.

They couldn't be dead. They had to save Middle Earth. They had to throw that stupid Ring into the fires of MountDoom and destroy the Dark Lord. They couldn't be dead.

I leaned forward and buried my face into the overgrown grass. It prickled against my skin, scratching my arms. The deep scratch that Sam had made in my arm stung and the wild grass irritated it even more. I swatted at my arm once or twice, warning it to behave, but it did not such thing.

The pain started in my arm and then spread, like cracking glass, up my arm to my shoulder to my collarbone to my chest. Deep, heavy, panting breaths. I gasped for air, but none would come.

Frodo's smiling face. His glass blue eyes glowing with joy as a smile spread across his smooth, light face. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Sam's overwhelming smile as he looked as Rosie. And she looked at him. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

The pain splintered in my skull. A dull, burning headache accompanied by bursting tears and deep, jagged breaths. Searching, searching—I couldn't breathe. II screamed and clutched my blond hair.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

"Stop it!" I screamed.

There was no response. Just an empty pasture. Except for a single mooing cow that was chewing on some grass. Her big brown eyes watched me woefully, silently judging.

"Shut up," I said, staggering to my feet. "You don't know me."

The cow dipper her head and took another bite of grass.

"They died!" I cried. "They died! Again! What do I have to do to keep these people alive?" The tears had started flowing again. My eyes pricked red, stung by salt and water. "And even if I try to save them! The world just might end anyway! Remember Boromir? Do you!? Do you!?"

The stupid cow didn't answer. She was obviously hiding something.

I wiped my nose with the back of my arm. I took a deep breath through my mouth because my nose was clogged. Tear soaked my lips and I coughed painfully.

"I have to help them," I said.

The cow swallowed another mouthful of grass. She blinked.

"But how? I can't fight orcs! I can't fight a frigging army of orcs! They're just sitting there! Between Frodo and Sam and the Mountain! What do you want me to do? Pick them up and move them? Hello, excuse me, Mister Orc, but you're in the way of my friends destroying your master. Can I just move you over there?" I let out mad, shaking laugh. "No! It's not going to work!"

A fly buzzed too close to the cow and her tail swatted him away. The cow regarded me reproachfully.

"It's those damned orcs."

I stopped.

"Orcs."

I opened my mouth and closed it.

"Oh snap." I blinked. "Someone find me Gandalf!"

The cow stared. (Apparently convinced I'd gone mad.)

"Gandalf!" I cried, racing across the pasture towards the cow. I jumped over a pile of cow dung and came to stand a few feet in front of the pat, brown animal. "Wizard! Tall, white beard, big pointy hat? Gandalf! I need to find him! It's _important_!"

The cow blinked. I could see my face reflected in her eyes.

"Oh my God," I said, taking a step away from the cow. "I'm going crazy. I'm begging a frigging _cow_ for help."

She stopped chewing on grass. For a second, we just stared at one another. The cow. And me. Stared. And stared. And stared. It was the stare off of the century and the tension kept on growing to new heights. It was a showdown for the ages. Me versus cow. (And I think the cow was winning.)

The cow took a step forward. I cringed, but held my ground. I had to be brave. For the sake of Frodo and Sam, I had to be brave.

"Where is Gandalf?" I asked.

Refusing to answer, the cow took another step forward.

"What have you done with the wizard?"

The cow glowered at me. Her brow eyes penetrating my very soul. She took a step forward.

That was it. I couldn't take it anymore. As much as I needed to find Gandalf, that cow could not give me any more information. I screamed and ran in the opposite direction like all hell was chasing me. And, you know, that damned cow was. I could hear her feet pounding against the grassy ground as she follow me across the paddock. I screamed and tried to run faster, but the cow was gaining on me. It was a race for my life. A race for Frodo and Sam's lives. A race for the fate of Middle Earth.

And that stupid cow was winning.

Thank God, I Skipped

* * *

"Gandalf!" I cried, jumping to my feet.

I wasn't anywhere near Gandalf. I was standing in the middle of a village-crooked wooden houses with animals in stables. Children dressed in simple brown clothes ran through the dirt streets, giggling as they played a game of tag.

None of the adults—who were busy with their own lives—had noticed my arrival. However, a little girl with curling brown hair came to a halt in front of me. She stared at me, her big blue eyes wide as she took in my appearance.

"Who is Gandalf?" she asked.

"Do you know him?" I asked, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Do you know him?"

The girl, her eyes so wide that she reminded me of a bushbaby, shook her head. "No."

I groaned. "I need him. Where am I?"

"In Rohan," said the girl. "Are you lost? How can you forget where you are? Does Gandalf know where you are? Can he tell you? Or are you just stupid?"

"I didn't forget," I said. "You ask too many questions."

"My mother always says a good little girl shouldn't ask questions," she said. "I don't understand why. Do you?"

"Because it's annoying," I said. "Do you know Eomer? Or Theoden? Or Gaenry? Or Taysend? Or Dorthin? Are any of these names ringing a bell? Eowyn?"

"Dorthin?" repeated the girl, recognition flashing in her blue eyes.

"You know him?" I asked. "Where is he?"

"You ask too many questions," said the girl. She looked over her shoulder at the group of children playing games. "Dorthin! This strange woman says she knows you!"

One tall, skinny boy with a mess of brown hair pulled away from the rest of the children. He made his way across the street. He frowned at the sight of me, and turned to the little girl. "I do not know her."

"She asked for you," said the girl, shrugging.

"I do not know her," said Dorthin.

"Wait a second, wait a second, wait a second," I said, holding up my hands.

"You should not be rude," said the girl.

"You are one to talk," said Dorthin.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Where's Gandalf? Or someone? Anyone? And, Dorthin, why are you so small?"

Dorthin paused mid-argument with the little girl and turned to stare at me. "I am taller than all the other children in the village."

"But you're supposed to tower over me," I said gloomily measuring the top of his head with my right hand. "Great. I Skipped to the wrong time period. First a demon cow and now this."

"A demon cow?" asked Dorthin.

"Don't ask," I said. "It wasn't the most heroic moment of my life. Where's Gandalf? I need him. Stupid Skip. I want out of here. Skip me away! Skip me away!" I waved my arms in the air, trying to urge the Skipping to work.

Nothing happened.

"I think her mother must have dropped her on her head when she was small," said the little girl.

Dorthin nodded in a agreement.

"Skip!" I cried, jumping a little. "Skip me to where Gandalf is."

"She is insane," said Dorthin. "Let us leave quickly before she infects us."

The little girl nodded. They turned around and left me, trying to Skip away.

"Wait!" I cried, trying to grab hold of Dorthin. "Don't turn your back on me! We're going to be psychic soulmates in the future! I promise! Don't leave me!"

"Walk faster," Dorthin muttered to the little girl as they went to rejoin the group of children.

"You're awfully rude for kids!" I shouted.

And then Skipped.

* * *

My eyes were wrenched shut. The world was pitch black and I could not see a thing. I could hear a lot. Like the sound of joyous laughter and easy chit chat.

"Alright," I said. "I refuse to open my eyes. You hear me, Skip? I refuse to open my eyes until you bring me to Gandalf. You got that? I need to see Gandalf so I can save Frodo and Sam. No tricks this time, Skip. Just bring me to Gandalf."

I opened my eyes.

No Gandalf. Just a market of busy, chattering people.

"God damn it!"

Skip.

* * *

"Alright," I said, crossing my arms and staring at the circular door of a hobbithole. "Now you're just being stupid. I just want to see Gandalf so I can save the world. It's not a big deal! You can usually help me with these things!"

A wrinkled old hobbit, dressed in gardening gear and a floppy brimmed hat, stopped his work in his garden. He released the stems of the pink flowers and turned around to stare at me.

"Well," I said. "To be fair, you haven't brought he home yet. And I _would_ like to know why my dad is from Bree. But, apparently, you don't want me to know this and you just want me to keep Skipping and Skipping and Skipping around Middle Earth for all eternity .Well, I've accepted the fact that I might _never _find out why my dad is from Bree. Fine. I get it. But when I want to frigging _save_ Middle Earth—let me see Gandalf!"

"Can I help you?" asked the hobbit.

"Why can't I frigging Skip!?" I asked.

I spun around and forcefully threw myself to the ground in front of the hobbit. I knelt in the dirt next to him and clutched his dirt-stained, gloved hands. He looked rather repelled by me and he kept trying to back away. But I kept a firm grasp on his hands and refused to let go.

"Where is Gandalf?" I asked. "Where is he? Has he passed by Hobbiton recently? Huh? Where is he?"

"I-I-I-I-I-I." The poor hobbit was incapable of speaking. He stared at my wide-eyed, wild face.

"Help me!" I cried. "I'm trying to save the world!"

"You are insane!" stammered the hobbit.

"Well, no duh!" I cried.

The hobbit's eyes were suddenly transfixed on something behind me. At first, he was not able to put what he saw in words. He opened and closed his mouth several times. He face went from white to even paler. I heard the clip-clop of a horse's hooves on a cobblestone road.

"Gandalf!" cried the hobbit.

I instantly released the hobbit's hands and spun around to see the wizard—in his gray robes and pointed hair, riding on the back of a pure white horse. He saw the hobbit in the garden and smiled.

"Hello, Mister Hamfast. How are you this morning?"

"Gandalf!" I cried. "You have to—"

Skip.

* * *

I was keeling on the floor of a bar. I had Skipped into the center of a group of chattering men. They all shouted and leapt away from me, spilling the ale from their mugs. They must have thought I was a witch, or some other creature of evil. I never really heard what they said. I was too busy talking to myself to notice the crazy things they were saying about me.

"Skip!" I screamed. "I'm going to kill you! I don't even know what you are or how we're related—but I will tear you out of me with magical tweezers and throw you into the fires of Mountain Doom along with the stupid Ring if I have to—just let me talk to Gandalf!"

"Gandalf? Are you searching for Gandalf?"

From amongst the crowds of confused and drunk spectators came a fat, greasy man who I recognized at Butterbur. He was frowning slightly, perhaps unhappy that I was causing unrest in his bar.

"Do you know him?" I asked with sudden growing excitement. "Is he here? Can I talk to him? It's important."

"Gandalf," said Butterbur.

"Yeah," I said. "Tall guy—gray beard, pointy hat."

"Yes," said Butterbur. "Gandalf."

My heart lifted with excitement. "Where is he?"

"I do not know. I have not seen him for six months."

Skip.

I suppose by now, you've come to realize that the Skip has a twisted and deranged sense of humor. I think it was right about then that I began to realize that the Skip was _not_ a hereditary part of me, but that something that was entirely separate from my being that, for some reason, had decided t haunt me. I didn't know the details at that time, but what I did know, was that the Skip was a bitch in heels who didn't want me to save the world. God, damn it!

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it took me awhile to update. It's Spring Break and I went to Boston to look at Emerson College (the joy of senior year). And my family does not understand that I NEED to write. Anyway, I managed to get some time to write and here is the next chapter. It's kind of weird, but oh well.**

**Please review!**


	62. The Skipper

**A/N: This has got to be one of my favorite chapters of The Skipper. hahaha That's probably why the title of this chapter is the Skipper. Oops. **

**Read, review, and - most importantly - enjoy!**

* * *

**LXII: The Skipper**

I was standing knee-deep in rushing river water. My black jeans were drenched and were slowly soaking up water to the thigh. My boots were flooded, weighed down by the thick water gushing about my ankles. I was standing towards the shore of a river, near these wooden docks that reached out into the deep rushing waters. It was nighttime and there were only a handful of men standing on the docks, drunk and chattering amongst themselves. They had come from the town—probably from the local tavern. The town was familiar. I couldn't make it out how I knew it at first, but, slowly, the name dawned on me. Laketown.

Which meant I wasn't in the right place. As far as I knew, Gandalf had never visited Laketown. Well, I might Skip if I tried downing myself…

"A girl! There is a girl in the water!"

I glanced up at the men. One burly man with a curling black beard pointed at me and his companions turned to stare.

I smiled awkwardly and waved. "Hey. Nice night for a swim, huh?"

They gawked at me.

"Though I think I've ruined my boots," I said, lifting one foot out of the river and watching as the water come down in buckets. "Dang. They were designer."

"Why is she in the water?" asked one of the men (the one with blue eyes)

"Maybe she is a water maiden," muttered another (with a moustache). "The kind that seduce men at night and lure them to their deaths."

"I certainly hope I'm not seducing you," I said. "Do the words—not interested—mean anything to you?"

"She must be a witch. She is using water magic."

"She is just a girl!" cried the man with curling black hair.

"Can we use the term woman?" I asked. "It's a little more flattering to a twenty-two-year-old."

"Aunt Ana!"

The group of men paused and turned to stare at a slender man with long, brow hair. His eyes were wide as he stared at Ana. He seemed unable to form words for a minute, his lips moving up and down without anything coming out. Then. He managed a strangled: "Aunt Ana?"

I blinked. "Who are you?"

"You do not remember me? Years ago. I was a lad. You dove into the lake waters and rescued me."

"Nope." I shook my head. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"I am Bard."

"Nope. Still don't remember you."

He hesitated for a second and then released a heavy sigh. "Bard the Brat."

And then it hit me. A wide grin spread across my face ad I clapped my hands together. "Oh. Bard the Brat. I remember. Wow, brat. You've grown up at lot these last few years."

"You have not changed at all," said Bard. "What kind of witchcraft do you use? Can you teach it to me?"

I laughed and lifted a finger to my lips. "Shush. That would be telling."

"Bard the Brat?" asked one of his companions.

"She knew me when I was little," said Bard, sighing. "She was not the nicest aunt I had."

"But I was the funnest," I said, cheerfully.

I waded my way through the rushing river water. The progress was slow and water sloshed everywhere, but eventually I reached the dock and I held up my arms to Bard. "Help Aunty Ana up."

Bard reached out and grasped my hands. He hauled me up out of the river—sending droplets of water flying in all directions and splashing some of his friends—and onto the dock.

"The river is not safe during the day," said Bard. "And night is no better."

"I have my reasons," I said, pulling my designer boots off my feet and dumping the water back into the river.

"I still think her to be a witch," said the man with blue eyes.

"How rude," I said. "I'll have you know that I am simply a manly she-dwarf. Get it right."

"A manly she-dwarf?" repeated Bard.

I nodded.

"Ah," said Bard. "How rude. Allow me to introduce my friends. This here is Holden." (The man with blue eyes.) "And this is Gale." (The black-bearded man.) "And here is Fiorde." (The man with the moustache.)

"Hi," I said. "I'm Aunt Ana."

"You are not from Laketown," said Holden.

"Wow," I said, rolling my eyes. "Way to state the obvious. Are you by any chance related to Legolas? What gave it away? Was it my clothes? My weird way of talking? Or the fact that I didn't recognize my own nephew?"

"We are not actually related," said Bard.

"Quick! Grab the docks!"

"It's hard!"

"Try harder!"

"Kili! Do not fall out the barrel again!"

There was a splash.

"Kili fell out of the barrel again."

I froze. My head was cocked slightly to the side, listening carefully to the sound of splashing water and dwarven shouts. At first, I dared not to believe it. Not here. No way. Then, I spun around and sprinted to the end of the dock. The men of Laketown were staring at the water in confusion. I didn't blame them. It was not every day that Laketown was visited by a company of dwarves.

"Thorin!" I cried, coming to a halt at the end of the dock.

A dozen barrels with dwarves floating in them were clustered together in the water. Dwalin was holding on to a section of the dock, while the others held onto one another to form a sort of chain, so that no dwarf floated away downstream and was lost forever. Kili had, of course, fallen out of his barrel and was thrashing around in the water like a drowned rat.

Upon my arrival, all the dwarves look up at my beaming face.

"You," grunted Dwalin.

"I thought you had disappeared over the waterfall!" cried Ori.

"How did you beat us here?" asked Gloin.

I placed my hands on my hips and grinned down at them. "Please. You should become accustomed to my bizarre behavior by now."

"I could never become accustomed to you," said Thorin.

As I laughed, the men of Laketown sprinted forward and joined me at the edge of the dock. They peered down at the dwarves in the water, their eyes wide with wonder.

"I did not believe you," said Fiorde. "When you said that you were a manly she-dwarf. But it appears now that I was wrong to doubt you."

"You were right to doubt her," grunted Thorin. "She is not a dwarf."

"Shush," I said. "You're ruining my disguise."

"Then what is she?" asked Fiorde. "And what are you?"

Thorin caught hold of the dock and hoisted himself out of the barrel. He pulled himself up onto the wooden dock, dripping water everywhere. Then, he pulled himself to his feet and stared boldly up at Fiorde. "I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. And I am a dwarf." He did not pause for the men's awe, but turned to me. "And this is Ana. She is an idiot."

I smiled. "You have no idea how much I've missed you."

The other dwarves (starting with Gloin and ending with Bombur, who had to be pulled out of his barrel by seven dwarves, and Kili, who had to be fished out of the water by his brother) wriggled onto the dock and joined Thorin as proud, albeit wet, members of his company. Bilbo stood at the back, trying to wring the water out of his clothing. I grinned at him and he managed a weak smile back. I don't think he liked being wet very much.

Bilbo was shivering. He looked chilled to the bone. His face was pale and clammy. There was a heavy thudding my chest. Bilbo's face was overlapping with a blue eyed hobbit. A blue eyed hobbit who lay at my feet with a trickle of blood flowing form his right eye to the stone ground.

I blinked the image away.

Bilbo was staring at me curiously. I found my smile again and grinned his worries away. I would find Gandalf soon.

"We have come to slay the dragon, Smaug," said Thorin. "We do not expect you to join us or to support us, we only ask for food and shelter for a night so we may rest and recover before we venture to the mountain."

Holden's jaw was somewhere about river level. Fiorde kept glancing left and right, waiting for Bard or gale to make a move. Gale seemed too confused to even open his mouth and Bard kept staring at me, waiting for me to explain something. I shrugged, unable to keep the grin off my face. Finally, Bard stepped forward and said, "We are not the correct people to ask for food and shelter. However, if you are who you claim you are the Master of Laketown will be keen to speak with you. I can take you to his abode if you choose and you may discuss such important matters with him."

I giggled. "My nephew sounds so grown-up. Maybe he's not the brat I remember him to be."

Bilbo glanced at me and then back at Bard. "You are Ana's nephew?"

"No," said Thorin. "She is just being Ana."

"Aw," I cried, jumping forward and trying to hug Thorin (he dodged me). "You know me so well."

Thorin turned to Bard. "Take us to see the Master of Laketown. We have serious matters to discuss."

"Very well."

Bard led the way through the streets of Laketown while the Company, the other men, and I followed. It was not as late in the night as I had first assumed. Many people were still up and, some of them hearing the voices of dwarves, came outside to see the newcomers. Men, women, and children of all shapes and sizes were exited and horrified to see the creatures of legend (dwarves were very legendary in those parts) returning to the mountain. I smiled and waved at them all. The Company had very different reactions. You had the dwarves like Ori, who acted shy under all the attention. Then, you had those like Thorin, who were too majestic to notice the attention. (Actually, only Thorin was majestic. But Dwalin, Bifur, and Oin ignored the attention too.) And then you had Fili and Kili and those like them who played up the whole scene and smiled and waved and made "dwarvish show faces" for the children.

I strolled along with Fiorde, Bofur, and Gloin, chatting happily about my recent activities.

"My dad's from Bree," I said.

"Is he?" asked Gloin. "How did he come to your world then?"

"I don't know," I said, rolling my eyes. "I Skipped before he could tell me the story. I keep waiting and waiting and waiting to be Skipped back home, but no avail."

"Skipping?" asked Fiorde.

"Too much effort to explain," I said. "Just know there's a reason I haven't seen too much of my nephew these past years."

"Bard is older than you," said Fiorde.

"Age means nothing to Ana," said Bofur, smiling at me. "She is unique."

"Aw," I said. "You're precious." I turned to Fiorde. "Isn't he ridiculously lovely?"

"Um." Fiorde glanced at Bofur, with his rosy cheeks and braided beard, and then glanced back at me. "Yes?"

"He's the loveliest dwarf I have ever seen," I said, cheerfully. "I should have decided to marry you instead of Gimli," I told Bofur.

"You married my son?" asked Gloin, his face turning red.

"Almost married," I said. "We were engaged for awhile and planning a wedding with dwarf bridesmaids."

"Almost?" asked Fiorde. "What happened to end the engagement?"

"A ghost," I said.

"Oh yes," said Fiorde, nodding. "The past does often hold us back."

"No," I said. "I literally mean a ghost. Somehow, through future events that I cannot describe, Gimli and I ended up in a mountain haunted by ghosts and this ghost king called Raoulidor fell in love with me and tried to kill anyone who he thought I was dating. So, Gimli broke off the engagement." I shook my head. "Bofur, you wouldn't have done that to me, would you?"

"Of course not," said Bofur.

"Gimli would not be so unfaithful," grunted Gloin. "Not my son."

"Raoulidor was very scary," I said.

"Raoulidor?"

I glanced up ahead to see Thorin staring at me over his shoulder. He had caught the other dwarves' attention and everyone was looking around to see what this ghost business was about.

"The ghost king," I said, nodding. "He mentioned you, you know. He agreed with me that you were very majestic. Though Aragorn might come to rival your majesticness. We thought a majestic showdown was necessary."

"When did you meet Raoulidor?" asked Thorin.

"When did _you_ meet Raoulidor?" I asked.

Thorin hesitated. For a second, I thought he was going to tell me. Then, he turned around and started a conversation with Bard the Brat and I was left out in the dark.

"Well, that was rude," I said. "He's been demoted from maid of honor."

"Can I be maid of honor?" asked Fili.

"Of course, you can," I said. "The dress will match your blond hair perfectly."

We arrived at the Master's Hall not long after that awkward conversation took place. The Hall was pretty grand. Not as Grand as Moria or Erebor or Minas Tirith or any of the other grand places in Middle Earth. And, of course, nowhere near as grand as Elrond. Actually, when you think about it, the Master's Hall wasn't really that grand. It was average. Below average on the grand scale. It was a so-so two story building at the far edge of town that overlooked the lake. It was designed with carved wooden arches and a dimly lit hall that was covered in every kind of fish decoration imaginable. I would not have been surprised I had seen that annoying talking fish on a plaque they sold in stores and whenever you poked it, it spoke in annoying voice—Big Mouth Billy Bass. Oh my God, if the Master had Big Mouth Billy Bass on the wall, I would throw that thing on the ground and stomp the life out of it… that fish and I have an ongoing feud.

Anyway, sitting down at one of the long, wooden tables that filled his hall was the Master himself. He was a fat, pockmarked man with stringy gray hair and yellowed teeth. He wore thick furs draped over his shoulder and held mug of ale in his right hand, which e drank long and deep from. Let's just say that the Master of Laketown could hold his own in a drinking contest with elves.

"Bard, my boy!" cried the Master as we entered the Hall. "What have you caught tonight?"

"Dwarves, Master," said Bard. "And a hobbit. And my long lost aunt."

I smiled and waved at the Master. He did not seem to notice me as his eyes fell on the dwarves. Wonder and awe filled him and the Master hurriedly rose from his seat.

"Well, may I drown in my ale if I be—dwarves? In Laketown? I thought the age of dwarves had come to pass."

"It has barely begun," said Thorin. "Greetings, Master of Laketown. I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. Me and my kin have come to reclaim our place in Erebor. We ask that you grant us food and shelter before we embark on our journey to the mountain to defeat the dragon, Smaug."

I don't really feel obliged to report to you the whole conversation between Thorin and the Master. It's one of those political I'll-Be-Nice-To-You-If-You-Be-Nice-To-Me conversations that don't actually have any real sustenance, but are necessary for the sake of manners. Basically, the ridiculously long conversation of who can out politic the other ended with Thorin promising to do his best to rid Laketown of the dragon and the Master promising food and shelter for the Company until the dragon had been defeated. Then, the Master (being quite the party animal) decided to hold a last-minute feast for the Company and soon the ale and the food was brought out and the merrymaking began.

"Ah—do not give her anything to drink." Dwalin plucked the mug of ale right out of my hands. "She is a nightmare when wasted."

"Hey, hey, hey," I said. "I can drink just as well as any of you. I'll have you know that I drink with elves—and the men of Rohan—and the men of Gondor—and hobbits—and just about everyone I've met. I have a very long drinking resume."

"And I have been drinking far longer than you," said Dwalin.

I sighed. "You've got me beat there."

"I thought age meant nothing to Ana," said Oin.

We were sitting around the end of one table. The dwarves were enjoying their alcohol while I had yet to obtain any—they kept obstructing my Ana-to-alcohol connection. It was quite upsetting.

"Let me drink!" I cried as Fili snatched away another cup of the intoxicating substance.

"No," said Fili. "I think it would be best to keep our host's hall in one piece."

"But I want to drink!" I wailed. "I want to drink my sorrows away!"

"What sorrows?" asked Kili. "You cannot fool us. We know you too well. You have been smiling since the moment we arrived here."

There was a dull thud. And Kili yelped. He spun around ,ready to retaliate to the person who had hit him on the back of the head. Only to find himself face-to-face with his grim uncle. Kili flushed and rubbed the forming bump on his head.

"How did I deserve that?" asked Kili.

"There was a fly," grunted Thorin. He wandered back to the Master's table, leaving us to our drinks.

"I think you got it," said Fili, hiding a smile. He slid the mug of ale down the table to me. I grinned my thanks at him and took a sip. God, I needed the alcohol.

"She is going to be hammered by the end of the night," said Dwalin. "Could I just beat her over the head with a hammer and shorten the process? It would achieve the same result with a lot less collateral damage."

"I don't appreciate the gesture," I said, taking another swing. "Down the hatch."

Despite the fears of the Company, I was one of the few people left conscious at the end of the party having consumed only one drink. Apparently, the Master's parties had a tendency to close with three-quarters of the guests unconscious. I was one of the remaining twenty-five-percent. The lights in the hall had been dimmed and most people were fast asleep. Some on beds, some on table tops, and some on the stone floor. I won't report to you all the details of a drunken night (on some of the escapades, I was sworn to secrecy), but I will tell you that it included a game of charades (where I guess Kili was acting out a rat every time he got up), some elf-name-calling competitions (Gale was surprisingly good at these for some reason), and a majestic-showdown (where Thorin blew away all the competition by simply blinking).

The cheerful night came to a close and I fought of the inevitable sleep that had haunted my past few Skips. (I really don't follow a normal sleep schedule. I live by the rule of Sleep When The Skips Allow—which isn't often.) I managed to nap for a whole fifteen minutes before the nightmares came.

Dead hobbits. That's where it began. Two dead hobbits lying at the feet of gurgling orcs. And me. Useless. Unable to help, but unable to die. Just watching as the orcs took the ring to Sauron. And then, there weren't just two dead hobbits. There were many, many more. The faces of Merry and Pippin upturned towards the blackened sky, their eyes glassy and unseeing. The Shire was burning, burning, burning. Hobbits screamed and fled as bruised orcs ran along the cobblestone roads, cackling. And then, there was Minas Tirith. Faramir bleeding in his father's arms. Aragorn watching from afar as his city was consumed in smoke and fire. Legolas weeping to himself and Gimli turning away from the sight, unable to look upon such horrors. Gandalf's tarnished white robes as the witchking drives his sword through Gandalf's chest. The world consumed in darkness. Burning, burning, burning. Black.

I woke up with a half-scream, half-choke. I was sitting on the wooden bench after falling asleep with my head resting on the table. The glanced around the hall at the darkened shadows of sleeping figures. Fili and Kili were knocked out on either side of me and Bombur was drooling on the table top just across from me.

Gandalf.

I took a deep breath and stood up.

I had to find Gandalf.

Careful not too make too much noise, I carefully made my way across the hall.

Gandalf wasn't in Laketown.

I wove around the sleeping bodies. My footfalls were heavy, but I tried to lighten them. Not too loud, I didn't want to disturb the drunkards.

I had to leave Laketown.

The stairs weren't too steep. They were easy to climb. Step by step, upwards, upwards, upwards, until I pushed open the creaking, crooked door and stepped out onto the flat, wooden roof of the Hall.

There was only one way to leave Laketown.

The air was bitter and the night was still. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and yet I could see no stars. No wind rippled across the vast lake. There was only a stillness that could not be disturbed.

I would have to Skip.

I stood on the edge of the roof, my toes hanging off the ledge. Below the Hall, down the wall, I could see the black waters of the lake. Perhaps jumping off here would not kill me, but if I did land in the water, I would not be able to climb back up. I would probably down if I did not Skip away in time.

The stillness infected my heart. Its steady beating suddenly dropped away and all I felt was an icy fear. I was shaking. From my damp boots to my chapped lips, I was shaking. It was far. It was far, far below. A small, shrill "Eep" escaped me.

"I thought you were afraid of heights."

I whipped around so fast that I almost fell of the ledge. I managed to keep my balance and I gasped for air when I saw the other person on the roof. Thorin, his arms crossed over his chest and his face grim, watched me with masked eyes.

"I am," I said. "I'm about to throw up."

"Then why are you up here?"

"You don't want to see me throw up," I said. "It's not attractive."

"Unless you only pretended to be afraid of heights."

"You should go back down to join the others. I'm very ugly when I throw up."

"I have seen you at your ugliest," said Thorin. "I have seen you cry."

I opened my mouth to respond, but then I stop. Somehow, despite my trembling and despite my overwhelming sense of terror, I managed to smile. "Yeah. I'm pretty ugly when I cry."

"Very," said Thorin. "I have never seen anything uglier in my life."

"That's because you've never seen me throw up."

"You are not going to throw up," said Thorin. "You are going to jump."

I didn't deny it. I glanced over my shoulder at the black water. Throwing up was still a possibility though.

"I need to jump," I said.

"Why?"

"Because I have to Skip."

"Why?"

"Because I have to find Gandalf."

"Why?"

"Because I have to save Frodo and Sam."

"Why?"

"Because I have to save Middle Earth."

"Why?"

"Because I have to, okay!" I practically screamed at Thorin. I practically verbally threw the words at him.

He wasn't affected, though. He just stood there with his arms crossed, staring at me with that same masked expression he wore when he first came onto the roof. "You did not answer my question."

"I have to Skip," I said.

"No, you do not."

Before that moment, I had never realized how blue Thorin's eyes were. They were ridiculously blue. The kind of cold, piercing blue that made me wonder if he could read minds, if he knew what I was thinking at that very moment, if he knew that I could give anything to be able to step away from that vomit-inducing ledge and run across the roof to him and go back down to the festivities with him and ignore any responsibilities I had towards saving Frodo and Sam and all of Middle Earth until a later time. I wondered if Thorin knew that. His blue eyes said he did know, but common sense said he didn't. But, if his blue eyes could read my mind, then he knew that there was no way I would ever do what I wanted, because there are some things, some things that even I cannot be selfish about.

"You're wrong," I said. "You're wrong. I have to Skip. I have to find Gandalf so I can tell him to save Frodo and Sam so Middle Earth can survive. I have to do it. It doesn't matter that I was born in Ohio. It doesn't matter that my dad's from Bree. In the end, none of that matters. What matters is that I have to do it. Because I am the Skipper."

And with that, I jumped off the ledge.

Thank God, I Skipped before hitting the water because I really didn't want to drown.


	63. The Hunt For Gandalf

**A/N: For those of you who have forgotten the Cool Points Scale, visit chapter four (way back)**

**Don't forget to review!**

* * *

**LXIII: The Hunt For Gandalf**

Someone screamed.

I was standing on a white-stone street as pieces of wood, stone, and fire came showering down on me. I threw my hands over my face to protect myself. Some wood scratched my wrist and a burning cloth scalded my forearm. I shrieked and leapt away, almost knocking over a tall woman.

"Watch yourself!" she cried. She pushed me away and grabbed her children by the hands, pulling them away from me and the flaming wall.

"Where am I?" I asked.

She shot me a reproachful glare before running in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" I cried. She was long gone. "Can we talk about _rude_?"

"Look out!"

A shrill, piercing cry filled the air. My ears bled as the cry—like a dagger—penetrated my brain. I clamped my hands over my ears, but I could not keep the sound out.

There was a crack and I looked up just in time to see a massive piece of white stone—originally part of a tower—had been ripped from its seat and was now toppling down, down, down towards me.

I closed my eyes and screwed up my face, concentrating hard. "Skip, Skip, Skip. Please let me Skip."

Someone slammed into me from the side. I screamed as I was knocked sideways, pitched onto the ground as the massive chunk of debris slammed into the road and broke apart, sending chunks of rock flying in all directions. It was only when the dust had settled and the sound of sliding stone stopped that I sat up and looked around.

"Ana."

I glanced at the small, child-like figure that was sitting on the ground next to me. The curly light brown hair and wide blue eyes were familiar, though the black armor bearing the image of a white tree was not usually associated with him.

I blinked. "Pippin?"

"Ana," said Pippin, breathing a sigh of relief. "You are alright."

"Yeah." I rubbed the back of my aching head and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I thought I was going to Skip before the rock hit me."

"You did not," said Pippin.

"Sorry."

I glanced around at the city street. It was a wreck. Half of the buildings were burning and the other half were piles of rubble that could barely be recognized as buildings. Women and children were fleeing in the direction while soldiers, dressed in silver armor, ran in the opposite direction, their weapons raised and their faces set. The city was almost unrecognizable. But as it smoked and burned, its name dawned on me. I was in Minas Tirith. I was in Minas Tirith as it was besieged by the armor of Mordor.

I screamed.

"Ana!" cried Pippin, grabbing my arm. "Ana! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, waving his concern away. I was panting slightly, but I managed a smile. "It's a normal reaction."

"What have you been doing?" asked Pippin. "I did not know you were in Minas Tirith. I thought you had left."

"I came back," I said. "Let's just say I have really bad timing."

Pippin nodded. He pushed off the ground and, staggering slightly, got to his feet. He looked pretty impressive for a short little hobbit. He was dressed in military uniform, with the same metal armor as the soldiers. The only difference was the black fabric that covered his chest and the spidery white tree. He also wore the elvish cape that the Fellowship had been given by Galadriel. He was not fully Gondor's yet. The Fellowship still lingered on him even though many miles separated him and the others. I was suddenly overwhelmed with awe. Pippin had changed a lot. Perhaps he did not know it himself, but he was no longer the naïve, foolish hobbit that he had once been. He now stood in Minas Tirith, a soldier of Gondor in the middle of a war. Unlike me, he had not screamed in terror. In fact, he had saved me from being crushed to a bloody mess. God, you have no idea how jealous I was of him right then.

Shaking slightly, I managed to get to my feet. "Do you know where Gandalf is?"

Pippin shook his head. "I'm looking for him too."

"I need to find Gandalf," I said.

"Me too," said Pippin.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why do you need to find him?" asked Pippin.

I hesitated. It's never wise to tell too much of the future (or the present, I never really knew of the Frodo and Sam timeline matched up with the Minas Tirith timeline). "Never mind. It's for his ears and his alone. But I need to find him. It's important."

"He's someone where in the battle," said Pippin, gesturing in the direction that all the soldiers and run towards.

"Ah, ha, ha, ha." I laughed awkwardly. "Yeah. Why don't we go that way." I pointed in the opposite direction. "And wait for Gandalf to find us."

"It cannot wait!" cried Pippin. "Denethor is burning Faramir alive."

"What!? Why didn't you say so!?"

"I—"

"Faramir is the most precious person I have ever seen! He's so sweet and nice and he has no love from his crazy, crazy father. Faramir is like number two one the Cool Points Scale! Denethor! Minus a thousand points! Minus a thousand!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Pippin incredulously.

"Come on! Let's go dump our problems on Gandalf!" I cried, grabbing Pippin by the arm and dragging him down the street, dodging the debris as we went. "I'll give you a million Cool Points if you save Faramir!"

It became harder and harder to reach the fighting the closer we got. The destruction heightened as the danger grew nearer, and, at some points, we had to lie down on our stomachs and crawl through holes in buildings in order to reach Gandalf. Some of the soldiers shot us annoyed glares as we passed. Some of them even had the nerve to tell us to turn around—a girl and a child had no place in a war. I flipped them off and kept on running. (Except the middle finger has no meaning in Middle Earth, so I think I only succeeded in confusing the soldiers. Oops.)

"Where's Gandalf?" I cried.

One of the soldiers—a burly man with a bloodied forehead—spun around. "What did you say?"

"Where is Gandalf?"

"Mithrandir?"

"We _need_ him!"

"He is busy."

Pippin and I exchanged glances. Our expressions mirrored each other's—a mix between fury and hopelessness. I gritted my teeth and let the fury take over the hopelessness. I spun around and glowered at the soldier. He actually took a step backwards in surprise (Oh yeah, I felt pretty badass right then.)

"You listen to me, you oiled up tin can," I said. "Pippin here is running around, risking his life, trying to save _your_ captain from being burning to death by his totally uncool father, while _I_ am running around like a headless chicken, Skipping through different time frames, having an insane glare-off competition with a demon cow and jumping off buildings—all so I can tell Gandalf to save Middle Earth from coming under the reign of an evil Dark Lord who is currently marching on your city. If I do not get my message to Gandalf, the all your fighting will be for naught because the Dark Lord will get his full strength back and the Middle Earth will fall anyway. So, you know what, whether or not I get this message to Gandalf is far more important than you or your life or your stupid little city!"

The soldier gawked at me. I don't think he was expecting my full on rant. I stood there, gasping for breath and practically emitting steam as I raged. Thankfully, I felt a lot better after my venting. I actually stepped backed from the soldier and smiled at him.

"So? Are you going to tell us where the wizard is?"

The soldier opened his mouth and then closed it.

"She can keep talking," said Pippin. "If you let her, she will start telling you stories about monkeys and demon cows until you wish your ears would shrivel up and die rather than hear another word."

"It's a dreadful fate," I said, nodding.

"He is on the wall," said the soldier, pointing to a white stone staircase behind him. "Be careful. The nazgul are attacking."

"Thank you!" I cried as we sprinted past.

We took the staircase two steps at a time (which was a huge leap for a hobbit and a shorty like me). By the time we reached the top of the wall, we were gasping for breath and sweating.

"Just remember," I said. "Stair climbing burs more calories per minute than jogging."

"Calories?" asked Pippin.

"Don't worries about it." I stood up and looked around, trying to locate the white robes amongst the silver armor.

"Look out!"

Pippin and I spun around just in time to see a flaming ball soar through the air and come smashing down on the wall next to us. Soldiers screamed. Some were crushed under the rock, while others were knocked off the wall, falling down to the battlefield below. There was blood everywhere. People screaming. People shouting. Broke limbs, broken voices, broken everything. The world was ugly.

"Orcs!"

The heavy clang of metal on rock. I spun around to see a tall, thick tower that had been pushed across the battlefield by trolls was pressed against the wall of Minas Tirith. A bridge had fallen from the tower and formed a connection between to tower and the wall. Orcs ran across the bridge and stormed the city. Soldiers swung their swords, desperately fighting. A pile of defeated orcs and men were forming on the white stone—staining the city with blood.

Pippin drew his little sword (more a dagger really). His expression hardened to one of determination. He gripped his sword and leapt forward as one of the orc's approached. He swung his sword and managed to slice open the orc's forearm. The orc howled and Pippin drove the sword through the orc's stomach.

I couldn't move.

The heroism that took over Pippin and caused him to fight like that did not exist in me. I was rooted to the spot, my eyes transfixed on the pudgy, blackened face of a dead orc.

"Ana!"

I glanced up. One of the orcs, wearing grey furs, had caught sight of me. He charged forward, his gray eyes a light with glee, his sword raised high.

Move, I willed myself. I could not move. Maybe I would Skip away in time, maybe I wouldn't Skip. Maybe I would die here. But Gandalf. I had to save Middle Earth. For a moment, a frightful moment as the orc swung his sword, I thought "Screw Gandalf, screw Middle Earth." I was going to escape.

And then Gandalf drove his sword through the orc's throat and I was saved.

Should I tell you about the wave of disappointment that churned in my stomach?

"Ana!"

I spun around and saw the white wizard sitting on the back of his white horse.

"Gandalf!" I cried. "Frodo and Sam are going to die at the hands of orcs in Mordor unless you find a way to get rid of Sauron's reserve armies!"

Gandalf did not have time to consider what I was saying. Another orc had decided to try and kill me—but this time I was ready. I pulled the Sword Breaker out of my boot and spun around. I caught the orc blade between the Sword Breaker's teeth and twisted. The orc blade went flying away and skirted across the ground—the sound of metal on stone. Gandalf sliced off the orc's head.

"Well done," said Gandalf. "I see you have been improving."

He grabbed me by the back of the shirt and hauled me onto Shadowfax behind him. I held onto Gandalf's white robes for support.

"Sauron has more armies in Mordor," I said. "Masses and masses. Frodo and Sam disguise themselves as orcs and try to cross, but they are discovered. The only way to save them is to get rid of Sauron's reserve armies."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" asked Gandalf.

I opened my mouth and closed it. Finally, in a small voice, I said, "I don't know. That's for you to figure out."

The long, awkward silence that would have followed that statement was prevented by the orcs that we had to kill—well, that Gandalf had to kill. I just sort of sat there and screamed a lot and tried to avoid losing any limbs.

And then, the nazgul arrived. A shrill scream filled the air. The same dagger-like scream that broke my brain and my ears. I clutched my ears with my hands, trying to block out the pain. I could see it. The winged black shadow in the sky—their white teeth gnashing together and its black eyes blinking as it scanned the ground, searching for its next target. I swear, the beast looked right at me—it singled me out as the most delicious meal present.

"No, no, no," I whispered. "I taste bad. I taste nasty. Not me, not me. Go eat the tin can soldiers, please."

"What?" asked Gandalf. He swung his staff and knocked an orc onto his back.

"The nazgul," I whispered. "It's coming."

Gandalf spun around just in time to see the great black beast come diving towards the ground. Shadowfax reeled backwards. Gandalf managed to hold on, but I promptly fell off the back of the horse. The hooves came dangerously close to me. I cried out, but Shadowfax danced away.

The black beast was perched on the edge of the white wall. It snapped out and caught one of the soldiers between his teeth. There was a cracking noise and the soldier lay limp in the beast's jaws.

"Gandalf…" I murmured. The white wizard was no where to be seen. "Pippin…" No hobbit either. I was lying on my stomach against the cold stone floor of the wall, my face was lifted off the ground and my eyes met those of the nazgul. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I was going to die. Or Skip. Hopefully the latter.

"I taste bad," I said. "Really bad."

The beast spread his wings and—with a gust of wind and beat of his leathery wings—he took off from the wall, and I was left there. Alive and in one piece.

"Ana!"

I glanced up to see Pippin, the side of his face splattered with black orc blood. His blue eyes were wide and he grasped my arm, hauling me to my feet.

"That was terrifying!" cried Pippin. "If the blackrider had seen you!"

If only he had seen me. With sudden horror, the truth struck me. Perhaps the nazgul had not been looking at me after all. Or if he had, perhaps I was not important enough to eat. Perhaps, in the end, I meant nothing to this war.

"Where did Gandalf go?" I asked.

"He is coming," said Pippin. "He is dealing with some orcs first."

I had barely gotten to my feet when Gandalf came, galloping around on his white horse with another soldier right behind him. Gandalf paused just long enough to place Pippin on the back of Shadowfax and the rider placed me on the back of his horse. I screamed and wrapped my arms around the rider's waist as the horse galloped down the white street.

"Calm down," said the rider. "Daisy won't let you fall."

"Daisy?" I asked, through clenched teeth and closed eyes. "Please tell me your five-year-old daughter named your horse."

"Daisies happen to be a very dignified flower," said the soldier stiffly.

"I don't have much confidence in a horse named Daisy," I said.

"Would you be less afraid if you were on Shadowfax?" asked the soldier as Daisy leapt over a piece of rubble.

"It's called equinophobia," I said.

"A fear of horses?" guessed the soldier.

"You try lying across a horse's back while being chased by nazgul and see if you survive without being terrified of horses!"

"Oh, so you are the girl that Lord Faramir found on Pelennor fields."

"Why does everyone call me 'girl'? I asked. "I'm twenty-two. I think I have earned the title of 'woman'."

"It is because you are so short," explained the soldier.

I closed my eyes and squeezed him in a hug. I was half-joking, half-holding on for ear life. "I'm Ana."

"I am Hiregard."

"Nice to meet you, Hiregard. Now, don't you dare let me fall off this horse!"

Just as I said that, there was another shrill scream of the fell beast. I howled. I could not cover my ears for fear of falling off the horse. By the time the cry had ended, both Hiregard and I were exhausted. We gasped and panted, covered in a thin layer of sweat.

"What evil creatures," murmured Hiregard.

"The things that ride them are even more terrible," I said. "They make horses seem like angelic beasts."

"I think you have the wrong impression of horses," said Hiregard.

"Stop talking or I might throw up all over your shiny armor. Faramir is lucky I love him so much. I wouldn't ride a horse for just anyone."

I'm pretty sure Hiregard managed a grim smile, but it was hard to tell from sitting behind him. We galloped up the rest of the white tower at breakneck speed. Daisy was an impressive horse (despite her name, one of the best Gondor had to offer as she managed to keep up with Shadowfax. We reached the top of the keep soon enough. Hiregard made to stop, but Gandalf charged towards a white side hall (I think it might have been a tomb). There was a tall, man with gray-blue eyes and a long, woeful face standing outside the hall. He rushed forward at the sight of Gandalf and Pippin.

"Mithrandir! Denethor has broken into the tomb—I tried to stop him, but I could only stall him for so long. Mithrandir—he is going to burn Faramir alive."

"You have done him honorably," said Gandalf. "Your captain will be proud. Quick! I must enter and bring a end to Denethor's madness!"

Shadowfax charged into the hall and Daisy followed swiftly behind. The tomb contained many graves—the graves of kings and stewards. It was white and made of stone, like the whole of Minas Tirith. It was a long hallway with sides bore the statues of kings past. At the far end of the hall was a circular room with a wood pyre in the center. A man in black velvet robes stood at the top of the pyre, Faramir lay at his feet, unconscious.

"Denethor!" roared Gandalf. "Stop this madness!"

Denethor lifted his head and shot Gandalf the most venomous look. "You took my son from me and made him your pupil, but now you can take him no longer. He is dead. And I—his father—shall go with him."

"He is not dead!" cried Pippin.

"Peregrin Took," said Denethor. "I released you from service. Your interference is no longer necessary."

"Not cool!" I cried, peering at Denethor from around Hiregard's shoulder. "You losing a billion point on the cool points scale. I think you might be behind _Sauron_ at this point!"

Denethor's eyes flashed with recognition at the sight of me. "_You_."

"I always said you are a bad father," I said. "You love your sons, but you are a terrible father!"

"Do not judge the way I raise my sons," said Denethor. "You do not know me!"

"Well, duh! Every time I got close to you, you tried to throw me in jail!"

Hiregard paused and then glanced over his shoulder at me. "Oh. You are _that_ Ana."

Denethor took advantage of this moment of distraction to throw a torch on the pyre. The wood caught alight in an instant and yellow-orange flames crackled and danced around Faramir's head.

"Faramir!" I cried, my voice breaking. "Minus a billion cool points! Denethor! Stop!"

He didn't stop. He spread his arms wide, as if welcoming the heavens, and closed his eyes. He had accepted death and no one could stop him. I thought I saw Faramir's eyelids flicker, but I couldn't be sure.

"Faramir! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

Gandalf muttered something to Shadowfax and the horse spurred forward. At the sound of horse's hooves, Denethor opened his eyes just in time to see Shadowfax rear up and slam his front legs into Denethor's chest. Denethor fell backwards of the pyre, flames dancing on his back. Pippin leapt off Shadowfax and landed on the pyre. With all the strength he had, the little hobbit shoved Faramir off the pyre and jumped down after him. Beregond, the guard who had tried to stall Denethor, helped Pippin slap the flames out.

"Faramir!" I practically fell of Daisy's back in my haste to get to Faramir. "Wait! He can't be dead! He's not dead! He still has to meet Eowyn and fall in love with her! He's not dead! Faramir! You stupid, cool captain! Open your eyes and get up and save the day! Faramir!"

"Ana. Shut up."

I blinked. I glanced at Pippin and then at Beregond, both of them were staring at Faramir. His mouth had barely moved, but he had still managed to get out the words "Shut up." I had never been prouder.

"Faramir!" I wailed, falling to my knees beside him. "You get infinite cool points for surviving! I'll let you be cooler than me. Who am I kidding? You've always been cooler than me." I was crying again. Big surprise. My eyes were puffy and red and it took all my effort not to rub them to death while I tried to get the salt tears off of my face.

"He has passed out," said Beregond. "He does not know that he has surpassed you on the cool points scale."

I sniffled. "He knows. We have a psychic connection like that."


	64. A Paralyzing Fear Of Horses

**LXIV: A Paralyzing Fear Of Horses**

I managed to stay in Minas Tirith long enough to see Beregond transport Faramir to the Houses of Healing. And then, being me and being incapable of keeping my feet on the ground, the Skip whisked me away mid-conversation with Hiregard (Pippin later told me that he had to convince Hiregard that I wasn't a witch before either one could return to battle). I apologize to Hiregard for damaging his mental state. I tend to do that a lot.

So, on to the more important matters. Like the fact that I Skipped. To. The. Battle. Of. Pelennor. Fields. One moment, I was chatting with Hiregard about how nice it was to arrive just in time to save Faramir and the next, I was standing on the dusty fields surrounded by dead bodies, the riders of Rohan, and some really pissed off orcs. Swords flashed, people screamed, horns blew, people shouted, weapons clanged—and I stood in the middle of it all, trembling.

"This isn't funny, Skip!" I cried as a massive brown horse galloped past me. Its hooves pounded on the dusty ground, dangerously close to crushing my feet. "Don't send someone terrified of war into the middle of a battle!"

I pulled the Sword Breaker out of my boot (I always put it there for safekeeping). My hands were trembling as I heard the sound of an orc approaching. I spun around and found myself face to face with a pudgy, pink orc.

"Oh my God," I said. "You're ugly."

I don't think the orc liked to hear that. His upper lip pulled back into a grim sneer and he lifted his sharp, jagged sword into the air and swung it at me.

I tripped and fell backwards, only just managing to avoid inevitable death.

"You got lucky," said the orc. "But not so much this time."

He lifted his sword again.

A horse whinnied, accompanied by the sound of hoof beats. The orc and I spun around to see a horse and rider galloping full-speed through the field. The horse sent up a cloud of dust from the ground as they raced straight toward me.

Can we talk about the reason why I have a paralyzing fear of horses? Do you not see those hooves? The hooves that can bash a poor woman's brains out or break all the bones in her body? Do you not see the danger? Every time I go near a frigging horse I am within inches of death!

The orc knew it too. He laughed (this kind of nasally, grunting noise) and backed away from me. His eyes glinted with malice and excitement, ready for the moment when that horse and rider would run me over.

I couldn't move. I could only watch the horses hooves beating in rhythm against the dusty ground. My heart beat in my chest, counting to my demise. Five seconds until my death. Four seconds until my death. Three seconds until my death. Two seconds until my death. One second unt—

At the last second, the horse veered to the side and a strong, large hand shot down and scooped me up off the ground. For a moment, it was only me and air. I was flying free through the air, suspended only by a hand and the arm attached. And then, I found myself seated on the front of the horse with two strong arms holding me in place.

"What? What? What? What? What?" ( That was the only word I was capable of saying right then.) "What? What? What?"

"Calm down, Ana."

I peered over my shoulder at the soldier of Rohan. He was wearing a helmet over his dark blond hair which was why I didn't recognize him at first.

"Eomer!" I wailed, elbowing him in the stomach (bad idea since he was wearing armor). "Don't scare me like that! I thought I was going to die! Again!"

"This is the gratitude I receive for saving your life? Perhaps I should put you back on the ground with the orc."

I began to say "I'm good here, thanks" when Eomer dug his heels into the side of the horse and the creature leapt forward at an even faster pace. I screamed and grabbed fistfuls of the horse's mane in an attempt to steady myself. What I ended up saying was "Oh my God! Stop! Stop! Stop! Get me off this horse! I'm going to die! I'll take my chances with the orc!"

Eomer (Curse him!) only laughed at that and said, "I am going to save your life whether you appreciate it or not."

"Where's my free will?" I asked.

Eomer didn't answer. Instead, he handed me the reins as he rode into a fray of orcs and men. He swung his sword and lobbed off the head of the nearest orc. It happened in an instant. One moment, the orc was staring at me, his face twisted in a grotesque grimace. I blinked. The orc's head was gone and there was only a stumpy neck where it once was. The horse charged past and the orc without a head was forgotten.

I stared at the reins in my hands. Eomer was not paying attention, preoccupied with us not dying. I stared from the reins to the back of the horse's head to the reins to the horse to the reins to the horse to the reins.

"Eomer…" I said slowly. "Why am I the one steering the horse?"

"I am a little occupied at the moment," said Eomer. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Why am I the one steering the horse?"

"Ana," said Eomer as he drove his spear through an orc's chest. "It is not difficult. You only have to tug the horse's head in the direction you wish to turn."

"Why am I the one steering the horse?"

"Would you prefer be the one killing the orcs?"

"Why am I the one steering the horse?"

"Ana!"

The horse (I forget his name…) was running around of his own free will at this point. It was only because he was a horse of Rohan that we were not thrown from the saddle and left to fend for ourselves. The horse was far too loyal to Eomer to betray him like that (though, if the horse had the option, I would have been dumped on the ground and trampled into the dust a long time ago). Once we broke free of a cluster of orcs, Eomer snatched the reins from me and regained control of his horse.

"It is not difficult!" he cried. "Here!" He shoved the reins back into my hands. "Now pull them lightly this way to get the horse to turn that way." Eomer tugged at my arms to get me to move the horse's head. The horse responded to the movement and I kind of sort of freaked out.

"Oh my God!" I cried. "It's moving! It's listening to me! Why is it listening to me? What is this madness?"

Eomer sighed. "He's a horse, not stupid."

I pulled on the reins in the opposite direction. My heart leapt into my mouth as the horse responded and galloped off in the direction I indicated. I gasped and clutched at Eomer's arm. "It's working! Oh my God! This is so cool!"

An orc lunged forward, his black eyes wide and his teeth barred. Eomer swatted the orc away with his sword. "Can you not see that we are in the middle of a riding lesson?"

"How rude," I said. "So how do I slow him down?"

Eomer showed me how to pulled back on the reins and the horse will slow to a canter. I gasped at the revelation and then started experimenting with going faster and slower. Eomer killed a few orcs while I practiced.

"Can you go over there?" asked Eomer. "I think some Riders need aid."

"Sure thing!" I cried as I urge the horse (I still can't remember the name) to a gallop and led him to the left where a large cluster of black-brown orcs and unhorsed Riders were battling it out. The horse responded in one easy, graceful movement. Not a moment's hesitation. "Did you see that, Eomer?" I asked. "Flawless!"

Eomer didn't respond since he was a little preoccupied with fighting a war. His eyes were focused on the orcs and their pointy weapons. I don't blame him, really. Well, maybe a little. He could have at least _pretended_ to notice my flawless horse-handling skills.

We charged into the group of orcs and Riders. Eomer used his two weapons (a sword in his right hand and a spear in his left hand) to deal with the orcs. Some of the orcs tried to damage the horse, but Eomer used his legs to urge her forwards. Eomer took down orc after orc until his weapons were stained with black blood and the count of Riders outnumbered the count of orcs.

I steered the horse.

I'll have you know, I was a horse-steering prodigy. Eomer would have told me so himself if he wasn't busy, you know, being awesome.

We had a good system going. Eomer controlled the speed of the horse, told me where to steer the horse, and killed the orcs who were trying to kill us and the other Riders. I steered. It worked well for us. We each did our equal share to ensure survival. (Don't look at me like that! I was a recovering equinophobic. These things don't just happen overnight! …You're judging me, aren't you?)

Anyway, we had a good system going. That was, until, the oliphaunts arrived and screwed everyone over.

We thought we'd won. Most of the orcs were dead. We now had the advantage in numbers. It seemed like a done deal. Theoden was even shouting about "Make save the city!" And then, those _stupid_ Haradrim with their _stupid _oliphaunts showed up. Way to rain on our parade.

"Eomer…" I said slowly.

"Yes?"

"I think you should take the reins."

"I think I should take the reins too."

He handed me his spear (what was I going to do with _that_?) and took the reins from me, still holding his sword. We slowed us to a trot as we watched, with growing fear, as the oliphaunts approached.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

"I have a few," said Eomer.

"Good," I said. "Because I have none."

"I was not expecting you to have any."

I nodded and then paused. "Hey…Is that meant to be an insult?"

Eomer kicked his horse back into a canter without responding. I have the feeling he was smiling beneath that stupid horse-mane helmet of his. Eomer steered the horse back into ranks as Theoden shouted, "Reform the line! Reform the line!" at the top of his lungs.

My fear of horses suddenly jumped back into being, as strong as ever, as I found myself surrounded on all sides by huge, sweaty, panting horses. I clutched the mane of Eomer's horse (Oh, right, his name was Firefoot) for support.

"Ana."

I glanced to my left where the gruff voice came from. Taysend was smiling at me from beneath his helmet.

"Hey," I said. "You survived."

"So far," said Taysend. "You decided to join us?"

"Didn't have much of a choice," I said. I grinned. "Eomer taught me how to steer a horse!"

Taysend laughed. "Make sure Eomer does not get you killed."

Right then, Theoden shouted "Charge!" and all the horses and their riders sprung forward. I didn't even have time to say good-bye to Taysend as he raced forward into the fray, charging towards the certain-death of the oliphaunts. Firefoot galloped with the rest of the horses. I clutched Eomer's spear and felt my heart racing off with the horses.

"Eomer…" I said slowly. "What did Taysend mean by that?"

"He was only joking," said Eomer.

I glanced down at the ground where Firefoot's hooves tore up a dust storm in his wake. I shivered.

"Is it still too late to take my chances with the orc?"

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**A/N: Short chapter (sorry), but I enjoyed writing it. All Eomer scenes should be read while listening to Seven Nation Army by the White Stripes. Just saying. He was made for that song. Or that song was made for him. Or they were made for each other. It was a match made in heaven.**

**Please review!**


	65. The Heroic Deeds Done That Day

**A.N: This chapter is limited in humor. Which is fine. As much as I love writing humor-adventure stories, war = tragedy. Sorry if you don't like reading it, but I have to write it. I don't like it very much either. However, this chapter does have the reappearance of a much beloved character! So read on!**

**Also, I have my first fanart for the story! ksv12 made a picture of the Sword Breaker! The link is on my profile page. Check it out and thanks ksv12!**

**Read, review, and, well, try to enjoy!**

* * *

**LXV: The Heroic Deeds Done That Day**

The Battle of Pelennor Fields would go down in the history of Middle Earth as the turning point of the war. I beg to differ. When we call it the turning point, that means that everything after the Battle of Pelennor Fields was our overwhelming victory. I beg to differ. The March on the Black Gate was basically a suicide march. We just got lucky. I'm not trying to demean the Battle of Pelennor Fields. To this day, that was the most gruesome and terrible battle I have ever witnessed. People died in the battle. People died in ugly ways. Some died in heroic ways. Some died in ugly heroic ways. But most, the ones remembered and the ones forgotten, died choking on their own blood while they sunk to the ground and their eyes rolled—

But I'm not going to talk about that.

You don't want to hear about that and I don't want to talk about that. So, I'm just going to tell you about the heroism. There were many heroic deeds done that day. I'm going to tell you their story. And you're going to smile and laugh and think—isn't that great? Okay? Yes? Good. Now. Where to begin?

Oh yeah—

I screamed and held onto the spear for dear life as Eomer steered his horse underneath the oliphaunt's thick, gray belly. I was convinced that the oliphaunts was going to step on me. His huge, thick feet were going to come crashing down on my head and it was going to be—splat—Ana, Eomer, and Firefoot pancake.

Of course, Eomer, being the expert horseman he was, steered us easily past the oliphaunt's legs and free of the danger. Momentarily. We were in the middle of a war. An orc (there were still some of those running around) tried to skewer us and Eomer kindly took of his head with a sword. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to use the spear he gave me or not, so I just sat there and clutched the spear, hoping that I wouldn't drop it.

"Here," said Eomer, snatching the spear out of my hands and replacing it with the reins.

"Wait!" I cried. "I thought we agreed that you were going to steer!"

"There was a change in plans," said Eomer. "Turn the horse a little to the left."

I did as told.

"Stop," he said. "Face that oliphaunt."

I shifted Firefoot until we were face-to-face with a particularly mean looking oliphaunt. He had a wooden pole with spikes connecting his two long, ivory tusks. He oliphaunt used the pole as a mowed to wiped out Riders in front of him. On top of the oliphaunt's head was the driver. He was a nasty looking fellow. Completely bald with red, black, and white paint covering his bodies. He laughed a lot, particularly when he killed people with the oliphaunt. He caught sight of us and his eyes widened a little. Then, a grin worked its way onto his face and he leaned forward, growing intense with excitement.

"Who is that?" I asked as Eomer shifted about on the back of the horse.

"He is the leader of the Haradrim," said Eomer.

"So…why are we having a glare-off with the leader of the Haradrim?" My voice squeaked a little.

"Because I am going to kill him," said Eomer.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Eomer was holding his spear in his right arm. His eyes were fixed on the leader of the Haradrim. He didn't even seem to notice that the lawn-mower oliphaunt was headed straight for us. Eomer could only see the target.

"Don't you dare miss," I said.

Eomer leaned back and then hurled the spear with all his might. I didn't see him release it, but I saw the spear soar through the air, over the oliphaunt's hear, and into the chest of the leader of the Haradrim.

At first, he looked surprised. His lips pulled back into a grimace, distorting his face with the paint that covered his cheeks, nose, and forehead. He looked down, almost expecting the spear to be protruding from his chest. Then his eyes rolled back into his head, revealing the white of his eyes. He toppled over the left side of the oliphaunt's head and dangled by the reins. The oliphaunt let out a screeching trumpet from his long nose as his head jerked to the left. The dead leader of the Haradrim was dragging the oliphaunt to the left and the oliphaunt was forced to comply. The oliphaunt slammed into the side of another oliphaunt and soon, the two collapsed on the ground in a tangled mess.

Heroic Deed Number One: Eomer killed the leader of the Haradrim and took down two oliphaunts while at it.

Eomer dug his feet into Firefoot's sides and the horse charged forward. I elbowed Eomer in the stomach and muttered, "Lucky shot."

"Lucky? That was skill on my part," said Eomer. "Luck has nothing to do with it."

"If you say—"

The pink orc appeared in front Firefoot. One moment there was a clear path ahead of us and the next, there was an ugly, pink orc with an axe trying to take off Firefoot's head.

Eomer shouted something. I don't remember what. The orc swung his axe and the blade slammed into Firefoot's ne—But wait. I'm not telling you these parts. Okay. So the orc didn't behead Firefoot. Firefoot got away. Yeah.

Firefoot reared backwards at the sight of the axe. He whinnied, his feet kicking in the air in an attempt to knock the orc's axe away.

I screamed and lost my grip on the reins. Firefoot leapt backwards again. I lost my place in the saddle, toppling backwards. I crashed into Eomer and he lost his hold too. We both went crashing to the dusty ground.

Firefoot let out another shrill cry and then galloped away, sending up a storm of dust and grass. But he got away. You see? He didn't die at all.

The dust choked me. I lay with my right cheek pressed against the dirty, bloody ground. I coughed once. Then, I pushed against the ground and moved to an upright position—just as the orc's axe slammed into the ground where my head had been.

"Ah!" I crawled backwards on the ground, trying to escape the orc.

"Ana! Look out!"

Another orc swung his sword at my head. Thankfully, it never reached my head. Gaenry leapt forward and stop the blow before I could be decapitated.

"Get up!" he shouted. "Do not just sit there! On your feet!"

I stood up as quickly as possible, just in time for a Haradrim to attack. I screamed and threw up the Sword Breaker in front of my face. The sound of metal-on-metal drilled through my ears. The Sword Breaker flew from my hands and skirted across the hard ground. I tried to scamper to it, but the orc grabbed me by the back of the shirt and threw me to the ground. I landed with a heavy crunch.

"Wait!" I cried, throwing my hands in front of my face. "Wait! Wait! Wait! You don't want to kill me! You don't want to kill me! I have a ghost king in love with me and if you kill me then he'll haunt you for the rest of your days and you'll be tormented by an army of glowing ghosts with skulls for heads and their empty eye sockets watching you forever and ever!"

The Haradrim didn't listen.

Thankfully, Gaenry cut off his head before he could kill me. I have such great friends.

Heroic Deed Number Two: Gaenry saved my life. Twice.

"You are hopeless," said Gaenry, helping me to my feet. "Who allowed you to join us in battle?"

"No one allows me," I said. "I just kind of show up. Why? Do you think I _want_ to be on the battlefield fighting? No. I want to be as far away from here as possible, preferably holed up in some mountain where no one will bother me!"

Gaenry smiled and handed me back the Sword Breaker. "You are definitely a manly she-dwarf."

Our conversation came to an end at that point since another round of Haradrim charged at us and Gaenry really needed to focus on fighting them. I, on the other hand, did what I did best—I ran away screaming.

Dodge this orc on the right. Scream. Dodge the Haradrim on the left. Scream. Oh look, there's an oliphaunt coming. Scream. Run in the opposite direction—oh wait, there's another Haradrim. Scream. Nazgul is coming. Scream. I think I was getting the hang of it.

"Ana!"

I spun around to see Taysend on a horse. He held up a hand to me and I took it. He scooped my up on the back of his horse and we galloped across Pelennor Fields.

"Where is Eomer?" asked Taysend, struggling to keep the twinge of fear out of his voice.

"I don't know," I said. "We got separated."

Taysend nodded. "He will be fine. He is Eomer."

"He brought down two frigging oliphaunts with one spear," I said, nodding. "he'll be fine."

"It is you I should be worried about," said Taysend.

"Hey," I said, poking him in the side. "I survived the Battle of Helmsdeep, didn't I? I think that ought to count for something."

Taysend laughed. "Alright. I will—"

Taysend never finished that sentence. And it was _not_ because he was struck by an arrow at that moment. It was _not_ because he fell off his horse, dragging me down with him. It was _not_ because I saw his lips form soundless word as his breathed slowed to a halt. It was _not_ because I lay next to his dead body for a minute, unable to move. None of those things happened, remember? I just hopped off Taysend's horse and decided to start crying and running for a safe place to hide because I felt like it. It had nothing to do with his death because in my perfect little world, no one _dies_. So get over yourself and quit looking at me like that!

Ahem. So, anyway, I was trying to find a place to hide.

There was a fallen oliphaunt in the middle of the battlefield. His had this structure on his back that had been used to hold the archers. But not that the oliphaunt was dead, the structure was just a pile of wood and fabric with a few dead bodies. I figured it was a good place to hide.

I wedged myself into the fallen structure, my feet pressed against the sideways, wooden floor of the structure and my right shoulder pressed against the wall of fabric. If I peered out through the crack in the maroon cloth, I could see a good chunk of the battlefield. Not that I wanted to see the battlefield. I was busy crying. Again.

It came in huge gasped. Almost like I was panting through my salty tears. My throat felt like sandpaper, continually scraping together every time I tried to breathe. My eyes were burning, pricking at the edges and fluttering rapidly whenever I felt another tear trickle down my cheek. I tried to suppress it. It's not the smartest thing to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of a battle because you did _not_ see your friend die.

Someone gasped.

My head jerked up and I turned to my right, reached for the Sword Breaker. I was face to face with one of the Haradrim. His head wrapping had been torn off and I could see his curly black hair, large nose, tanned skin, and puffy red eyes. He was curled up under the shelter too, shaking like crazy. His face was covered in a clean layer of sweat and his maroon clothes were darkened with blood. He looked a mess. A terrified, sobbing mess.

"Hey," I said, lowered the Sword Breaker slightly. "Are you a pacifist as well?"

The Haradrim stared at me for a moment. For a second, I wondered if he even knew what language I was speaking. Then, slowly, he moved his lips and, a little clumsily, he said, "I do not wish to harm."

"I don't either," I said. "I just want to sit here and cry. Is that okay with you?"

The Haradrim nodded. "Can I sit and cry too?"

"Sure," I said, patting the patch of ground next to me. "We can sit and cry together. It'll be a bonding experience."

The Haradrim, who had not stopped shaking, settled down on a piece of cloth next to me. He pulled his knees up to his chest and shuddered. I glanced sidelong at him. I think he was a few years younger than me. He was certainly handling this war even worse than I was. Poor kid.

"I'm taking a vacation after this," I said.

The Haradrim glanced at me, his black eyes wide.

"I'm going to the tropics and I'm bringing all my friends with me," I said. "Maybe Hawaii. I've always wanted to go to Hawaii—luau!" I laughed. "I can teach the dwarves how to hula. I'll buy them all grass skirts and leis and those stupid flower-print Hawaiian shirts and we'll go down to the beach and play Hawaiian music and we'll drink coconut milk and hula together. Sounds pretty awesome right."

The Haradrim stared at me. "I do not understand."

I sighed. "No one ever does."

There was the shrill scream of a Nazgul. The kind that pierced your ears and broke your skulls. I clamped my hands over my ears and felt another scream bust through my throat. It merged with the Nazgul cry and I could not distinguish one from the other.

And then, both screams died away.

I opened my eyes. The Haradrim was sitting next to me. He was crying again and shivering madly. I awkwardly reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes, not all the way, just another so he could squint at me. I managed I weak smile.

Then, I peered through the tear in the fabric out at the battlefield. The beating wings of a black fellbeast caught my eye. It's head snaked from side to side and its teeth gnashed together hungrily. Astride the fellbeast's back was a black cloaked figure with a metallic crown. His face was not visible, even in broad daylight. Almost as though he did not exist in this world.

I took a shuddering breath. The Nazgul had landed.

Everyone else—orc, Haradrim, Rohirrim—had fled the scene. No one, friend or foe, wanted to face the dreaded Nazgul.

And then, I saw it. A dead horse (but he wasn't really dead, he was just _pretending_) and a rider—still alive—trapped beneath the beast. The rider was trying to move, his crooked arms trashing against the ground in a pitiful attempt to escape.

I squinted. The blond hair. The fine armor. The weary face. I recognized the rider. Theoden was about to be eaten by a fellbeast. And there was nothing I could do about it.

If I were anyone else besides me, I would have rushed out there to save him. If I was just a little bit braver, I would have stood between Theoden and the Nazgul. I would have dared the Nazgul to attack me. I would have risked my life for Theoden. But I wasn't anyone else. I was me. I still am me. Small, scared, little Ana. And all I could do was watch with wide-eyed horror, hiding behind wood and cloth with the enemy, as Theoden faced death.

Hey! I said heroic deeds were done at the Battle of Pelennor. I never said they were done by me!

Thankfully, not everyone in the world is like me. One brave soldier worked up the courage to step between Theoden and his death. I remember the soldier well. He was not strong or tall. He was slender and pale, with long blond hair and a trembling hand. He looked no stronger or more prepared than me. And yet, he could stand before a Nazgul without screaming and running in the opposite direction.

Heroic Deed Number Three: The rider for standing up to the Witch King of Angmar.

That was all I wanted. Right then, at least. I wanted to be that soldier. I wanted to leave behind this cowering kid and step out from underneath the maroon cloth and broken pieces of wood and walk across the battlefield, afraid, yes, but stronger than my fear, and face that Nazgul with my head held high.

I remained rooted to the spot.

"I will kill you if you touch him!"

I blinked. That voice. That voice did not belong to any man.

"Do not come between the Nazgul and his prey."

Well, the Nazgul's voice didn't sound like it belong to any man either. But his deep, gurgling voice did not sound as though anything human made it. The rider, the one who dared to protect Theoden, was no man. The rider was a woman. But who?

The fellbeast leapt forward. I screamed. The rider dodged at the last second and slammed her sword down on the beast's neck. Once. Twice. Three times until the fellbeast's head was severed completely from its body.

The headless body reeled backwards, thrashing and struggling, before it toppled over onto its stomach and died.

The ride stood there, panting. She did not get a long rest. Though the fellbeast was dead, the Nazgul remained and, as you can imagine, he was not happy. And he had a mace. And frigging mace with the metal spikes and the chain and all that stuff.

"Run," I breathed. "Turn around, run away." But even as I said it, I willed the rider to stay.

"What is it?" asked the Haradrim. "What is happening?"

I didn't answer, my eyes were transfixed on the fight between the woman rider and the Nazgul. Their fight was so one-sided. The rider was no match for the Nazgul. Every move he made, she retreated, until, at last, his mace shattered her shield and broke her arm. She collapsed in a heap on top of Theoden's not-dead horse. The Nazgul, encourage by his overwhelming victory, grabbed her by the neck.

"Fool. No man can kill me." That gurgling voice grating against my ears.

The rider was helpless in the Nazgul's grasp. His body was limp. He was unable to resist. The Nazgul's victory was assured—and then a hobbit stabbed him in the back.

Heroic Deed Number Four: Merry for actually injuring a Nazgul.

Merry let out a cry of pain as his arm broke. He collapsed, twitching and shuddering as pain needled through his body. The Nazgul was momentarily paralyzed with pain, the sword Merry had used buried in the Nazgul's back. The rider got to her feet. She grasped her helmet and pulled it off her head, revealing her blond hair and feminine face. It was Eowyn (I totally knew that all along. Totally. I just didn't want to ruin the surprise for you.) Her blue eyes were fierce and wild, she drew back her sword and cried, "I am no man." And then she drove her sword through the Nazgul's head.

Heroic Deed Number Five: Eowyn for dressing like a man to come to war, killing a Nazgul, and saving her uncle, King Theoden.

I sat there. Unable to move. Unable to think. I stared at the pile of black cloth that was once a dreadful Nazgul. Now, he was only a dead body.

"They killed a Nazgul," said the Haradrim, his voice slight with awe.

I buried my face in my hands. I was going to do something stupid. I knew it. I took a deep breath. "I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud."

The Haradrim frowned. "Why are you saying that?"

I was definitely about to do something stupid. "I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud. I am a coward and proud." I lifted my head and wiped the last of the tears from my eyes. "Crap," I said.

"What is it?" asked the Haradrim earnestly.

I rolled my eyes and pushed back the maroon cloth to reveal the bright battlefield. "I might not be as much of a coward as I always hoped I was." And I crawled out of the shelter, clutching the Sword Breaker in my right hand.

Almost instantly, an orc was upon me. I screamed (was it too late to run back to the shelter?) and managed to dodge his sword by the blond hair on my arms. (The shelter wasn't that far away.) His sword clanged on the ground and, taking the moment, I swung the Sword Breaker and the sharpened side of the blade slid against the orc's neck. (Shelter…?) Purple blood oozed out. The orc grunted once and collapsed to the ground.

"I did something," I said.

The words sounded strange and unfamiliar.

"I actually did something."

Yep. Definitely not a phrase I would ever say again.

I stepped past the orc's body, my hands trembling slightly. I could see Theoden's fallen (but not dead) horse not far away. Eowyn's body had disappeared and I wondered where she went. Had she gone off to perform some other heroic deed?

I made my way across the battlefield, never lightening my grip on the Sword Breaker. I could find Merry's body either. So maybe they were both okay. Maybe they had gotten up and walked away, leaving the Nazgul's body to its own misfortunes.

But as I approached, I saw that Eowyn had crawled around the horse's not-dead body to her uncle's side. They were both unconscious. (Not dead.) Eowyn's chest was heaving up and down, making a sincere effort to live. Theoden's chest was still—but that didn't mean he was dead! He was going to wake up when the war ended and he was going to tell his niece how much he loved her and they were going to return to Rohan and be happy there and Theoden would totally approve of Eowyn's relationship with Faramir and Faramir, Theoden, and Eomer would have drinking competitions together on the long, uneventful nights. He was not dead!

I didn't cry over Theoden's not-death. Not a single tear. (Mainly because he was not dead. I have decreed that no one will die in Battle of Pelennor Fields besides the enemy and so it will be.) I left all my tears behind with the Haradrim kid.

There a grunt.

I spun around just in time to see that the ugly, pink orc had returned, still swinging the axe in his mutilated right hand.

"You again," I said, lifting up the Sword Breaker.

"You cannot escape this time," grunted the orc.

"I'm ready," I said. (See how epic I was? Do you see? It was Ana's turn to be heroic!)

The orc lifted his axe. My grip on the Sword Breaker tightened. Perhaps I should rename it the Axe Breaker after this. The orc stepped forward. So did I. He took another step. So did I. we were almost upon each other.

And then Raoulidor broke his neck.

Heroic Deed Number Six: Raoulidor for killing the leader of the armies of Mordor.

"Ana!" cried Raoulidor, his broken jaw stretched to a grim smile. "I found you again!"

"God damn it!" I cried. "I was about to do something epic! Bring him back to life! Bring him back to life! I was going to get a heroic deed! You stupid ghost!"

"Ana?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared daggers at Raoulidor. The ghost shifted uncomfortably under my glare. He grated his green teeth against one another and his skull was downcast.

"I cannot bring him back to life," said Raoulidor. "I was only saving you."

"If I wanted to be saved than I would still be a coward and proud hiding under the dead oliphaunt," I muttered. "You ruined my epic moment."

"Aragorn did bring us here to help win the battle," said Raoulidor. "I was helping."

I glanced around and saw that the army of ghosts had, indeed, arrived at Pelennor Fields. Like a swarm of green locust, they washed over oliphaunts and orcs and Haradrim alike, consuming and killing as they went.

Heroic Deed Number Seven: Aragorn for bringing the army of ghosts to save the day.

"Remind me to give Aragorn a piece of my mind when I see him next," I muttered, punching a fist against the palm of my opposite hand.

"There is another enemy," said Raoulidor.

I turned around and saw a Haradrim (not the one who had been crying). He saw me and charged forward. His shadowed eyes flashed with hatred and fear. I lifted the Sword Breaker and caught the sword between the comb teeth. The Haradrim's eyes widened and he jumped backward, freeing his sword.

"Oh," said Raoulidor. "You can fight. I have never seen you look so magnificent as when you fight."

I shuddered. "Okay. I changed my mind. I don't want to fight. I want to be a coward. Coward are unattractive right? Right?"

"You will be attractive no matter what you do," said Raoulidor.

The Haradrim attacked again, this time aiming from beneath. I screamed and leapt backwards, caught unawares. But I needn't have worried Raoulidor moved between the Haradrim and me. The Haradrim screamed and Raoulidor cut off his head.

I stared at the decapitated body and felt my knees give out beneath me. I fell to the ground and sat there, staring at the combed knife in my hands. I breathed in and then out. Calm. See how calm I was?

Raoulidor moved to stand over me, his green glow falling over my skin, giving me a greenish tinge too.

"I'm a pacifist," I said flatly.

"Are you?" asked Raoulidor.

"Yes."

"You can support war without wanting to fight in it," said Raoulidor.

"Well, that would be hypocritical," I said.

"But you're so attractive when you are hypocritical," said Raoulidor.

I stared at him. He stared at me—well, as much as he can stare at me through eye sockets. He was frighteningly ugly. Well, it was less that he was directly ugly and more that he was inhuman. His face was molding and his skull was crooked and deformed in places. He looked rugged and weary and dead.

"Well," I said. "It's good to know that if my love life fails miserably, then I always have you."

"Always," said Raoulidor, nodding.

"I can brag to my friends that I have a ghostly boyfriend who terrifies everyone who looks at him. They don't have that."

"Everyone wants a ghostly partner," said Raoulidor.

"I'll keep you on speed dial."

"I will wait."

And that was pretty much the end of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. The ghosts saved the city and destroyed all remaining enemies. The heroic deeds were numerous. Gandalf protected the city of Gondor. Beregond stood against Denethor to save Faramir. Pippin charged through the city of find Gandalf. Gandalf stood against the witch king of Angmar. Eomer brought an end to the leader of the Haradrim as well as two oliphaunts with on spear. Legolas took down an oliphaunt with only a bow. Theoden drove back the forces of Mordor and cut down the standard bearer of the Haradrim. Eowyn and Merry killed the witch king. Eomer lead his cavalry headlong into the forces of the Haradrim. Aragorn brought the ghost army. The ghost army rescued the city and ended the war. Aragorn freed the ghost army.

The heroic deeds go on and on and on. Even the ones who are not named. The ones who held their swords in trembling hands and wet themselves with fear. The ones who wanted to run away and held their ground despite all odds. The ones who fought for their lands, who gritted their teeth and fought their fear. Those are the heroic deeds. Not the ones who hid from sight, the ones who threw themselves from the white towers rather than die on an orc blade, the ones who refused to come. And yet, they remain as nameless as those who fought.

And yet, I remember the heroic deeds. I remember the faces of those who did them. I cannot count the numbers, but I can tell you that they were there that day. That day on Pelennor Fields. That day in the white city. The heroes were there in numbers.

But even longer than the list of heroic deeds is the list of the not-dead people.

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**A/N: Please review.**


	66. The Story My Daddy Told Me

**A.N: Has anyone heard of the Fanfiction Circle of Happiness? It goes like this. The author updates. Readers are happy. Happy readers review. The author reads reviews. The reviews make the author happy. So the happy author writes some more and the happy author updates again. And then the readers get another happy update. You see how it goes? So much happiness to be shared. So spread the happiness and review all the stories you can! (Mainly my story.) **

**Hahahaha love you guys!**

**Also, I'm going to Emerson for college! So happy! **

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**LXVI: The Story My Daddy Told Me**

So, do you remember when my dad told me he was from Bree? Do you remember how I Skipped before I could hear the rest of the story? Do you realize how crazy the stupid Skip drove me by not sending me back home? Do you know how many nights I lay awake, creating fantasies in my head about my dad's past? (I once had a dream that my dad was actually an elf and I was related to Legolas. It was more of a nightmare, really.) You've probably been fantasizing about my dad's past too—even if you'll never admit it. Well, do not worry. Because the full story will be revealed. All those questions wandering about in your head about the Skip, the Skipper, and the Senturiel will all be revealed, because the next time I Skip, I'm going to see my daddy. (I'm just as excited as you are.)

But, as we last left off, the Battle of Pelennor Fields was ending. The Battle was a tragedy. I don't remember too much of the aftermath, I think I spent most of it patting Eomer awkwardly on the shoulder while he cried over his sister and uncle. It was only after Eowyn had been taken to the Houses of Healing and Eomer followed her that I was able to surrender my duties as the friend and attend to my other duties.

Basically that meant acting out a teary farewell the Raoulidor.

The entire green, ghastly ghost army was lined up in ranks, anticipating the moment when Aragorn granted them freedom to rest in peace. And they would be free. Except Raoulidor wanted Aragorn to wait until he finished talking to me.

"You have to work hard," said Raoulidor. "Do not forget about me and do not surrender."

"Of course," I said, managing a sniffle.

"Remember these wise words—when in doubt, Skip."

"That's terrible advice," I said.

"Have you finished your farewells yet?" asked Legolas.

"Do not try interfere with us," said Raoulidor waspishly. "Our bond is stronger than any you could possess."

"This is only the second time you have met her," said Legolas.

"It was an instant bond," I said. "We were made to be together."

"Considering one of you is dead and the other one has an unfortunate habit of disappearing that is quite the feat," said Aragorn with mild interest.

"Our love surpasses life and death," said Raoulidor.

"Yeah." I nodded emphatically. "What he said."

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "Am I going to release you or should we use you in the next battle as well?"

"We will go," said Raoulidor. He turned to me and I swear I saw the ghost crying. "Farewell, Ana. We will meet again. In another time and another place."

"Probably," I said. "All this Skipping and it's bound to happen. When you think about it, there's no knowing when I'll Skip. I could Skip to when Gimli was a little dwarflet or when Legolas was a little elfling. Or I could Skip to Aragorn's birth." I paused. "Hey, Aragorn—if I Skip to your birth can I be your godmother?"

"I am not even going to ask what a godmother might be," said Aragorn. He turned to the ghostly army and nodded grimly. "Are you prepared?"

"We have been prepared for thousands of years," said Raoulidor.

"Then," said Aragorn. "I hold your oaths fulfilled. Go now and rest."

The ghosts, one by one, closed their eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. A gentle wind rustled through the fields. Like the ripple effect, beginning with the ghosts on the edges, the army blew away with the wind. Raoulidor had time enough to wink before their transparent bodies disintegrated. In one moment, where a terrifying deceased army stood was only an empty field with Aragorn, Gimli, the elf, and me staring in stony silence at the vast landscape.

It was only after Raoulidor had vanished that I realized that I would actually miss the ghostly weirdo. I mean, he was pretty funny…once you got past all that "I'm going to kill whatever guy you're dating" stuff. I sort consider Raoulidor to be this obsessive ex-boyfriend, you know? The kind you can never date because they're, well, obsessive, but you never truly get over. Of course, I never actually dated Raoulidor so that doesn't make any sense…Whatever. I'm confusing myself. Raoulidor is my obsessive ex-boyfriend. End of story. No questions asked.

"Bad idea," said Gimli, shaking his head and staring at the spot where the ghost army had been. "Very handing in a tight spot, they were."

"Aragorn is…what is the word?" Legolas feigned a frown for a second. "Oh, yes. Aragorn is what you call _honest_ and _true to his word_.

"I'm sure those are strange and foreign concepts to an elf," I said. "I seem to remember the word elf being synonymous with the word cheat."

"My father taught me that," said Gimli. "He was teaching me a gambling game. I cheated and he called me an elfer."

"You are an elfer," I said.

"You are an elfer," said Gimli.

"Legolas is an elfer."

"No," said Gimli. "He is a regular elf."

"Don't ruin my fun," I said, crossing my arms and sticking out my lower lip in a perfect pout. (Or, at least, I thought it was a perfect pout. I think Legolas thought I was trying to imitate a camel. If he evens knows what a camel is.)

"I think the dwarves need higher quality insults," said Legolas.

"That wasn't a dwarf insult," I said. "I taught it to them."

"Ah, that explains so much," said Legolas.

"You—"

I Skipped.

I don't think I realized it then, but looking back on it, I think I Skipped only a few minutes before I arrived on the battlefield with a bullet in my chest. So, if there's one think the Skipping makes sure of, it's that I don't run into myself. I can be in two places at once, that's not a problem, but I can't _see_ myself. Maybe because no one can handle two of me. Hell, I don't even think I can handle to of me.

Anyway, I was standing in the middle of a forest. It was a heavy, green forest with moss that covered every crack, crevice, and crease of the earthy floor. Trees—

What? I was supposed to Skip back to Earth? Oh, right! I did tell you that, didn't I? Oops. I forgot about the Skip to the Old Forest. It's the next Skip, I swear. I kind of get my stories confused. I can happen even to the best of us!

Okay. So where was I? Oh right.

I was standing in the middle of a forest. It was a heavy, green forest with moss that covered every crack, crevice, and crease of the earthy floor. Tree were bent and out of shape liked crooked crones with canes (I'm all about alliteration in this description). The trees arched over head to form a canopy that blotted out the sky, so I was left alone in a sort of nature-cage with fat trees for bars.

I had not been in this forest before. It was not Mirkwood (it lacked the foul air) and it was not Lorien (it was not eerie enough). Nor was it Fangorn (not sleepy enough). It was something else. Something clearer and older and queerer. Like the trees were constantly watching me. Maybe they had eyes somewhere buried in the folds of their bark. It sent shivers down my spine, that feeling of being watched. I kept glancing from left to right.

"I've got my eye on you," I murmured, pointing a finger at a particularly gnarly tree.

I swear one of the tree branches twitched. I think the tree was trying to flip me off, but there's no way to be sure.

"You'd better not be trying to kill me," I said. "I really don't like the idea of dying."

And that's when one of the tree tripped me.

I'm not kidding! I wasn't even walking. I was standing in the middle of the forest on completely flat ground and then—wham—face plant into the base of one of the tree. My head slammed against one of the roots and I lay there on my stomach for a minute, groaning in pain.

"This is why I attended a city college and not some small-town college out in the middle of nowhere where the idea of after class entertainment is going for walks in the woods." I sat up. "Nature is a ho."

I moved to stand up only to fall back down again. I landed on my butt with a painful knot digging into my side. I groaned and glared at my right foot, which had somehow ended up caught in some tree root. I swear, this tree was out to kill me.

"This isn't funny anymore," I said. "It's not like I'm trying to turn you into paper. I'm just passing through."

The tree didn't seem to agree with me and its grip on my foot tightened. I cringed in pain and tried to squirm my way out of it, but before I could get free, the tree managed to snag hold of my left hand. I yelped and tried to yank it away, only to find that I was sinking into the tree trunk. I was almost up to my waist in bark and I was slipping deeper fast. I cried out in surprise and tried to stand up again. No avail. The tree was devouring me and there was no way out.

"No fair!" I wailed, whacking the tree roots with my free hand. "No fair! You elfer! Let me go!"

I was now submerged in the tree trunk and the wood was squeezing down on my chest. I gasped and panted, digging through the air to find something to breathe in. My breath was raspy, strangled.

"No…"

The world was going fuzzy. The crooked trees no longer looked like trees, but some kind of phantom spectators, who were laughing at my misfortune. I felt like I was in third grade again when this popular girl, Elle, (she was popular because she had better toys than everyone else) thought I was creepy because I disappeared while playing tag with her. So she got a group of kids to trap me in the jungle gym and they all stood around and laughed. That's what the trees were. They were a bunch of stupid little third grade kids. Of course, I Skipped in the middle of my bullying session and all the kids got scared and went to tell the teacher. They had to admit to the teacher that they were picking on me and they got in trouble (sucks to be them).

Gasping, panting, unable to breathe—moments of panic that could only be described as a drowning, choking feeling. Inescapable. I was going to die. In a tree. Really?

Thank God I Skipped when I did because that'd be a really awkward story to tell. I can see the headlines now "Death By Tree: Crazy College Girl Consumed By A Tree And Never Seen Again". Can we talking about embarrassing ways to die? That would almost be as bad as Nick's cousin's uncle's friend's sister who died by toilet plunger. I'm not kidding. You can go ask Nick's cousin's uncle's friend's sister yourself. She'll tell you. Death by toilet plunger is the way to go.

Well, random musing aside, I Skipped away from that wretched tree and ended up sitting on the side of a dirt road. A cart with straw in it had just trundled by, sending up a cloud of dirt that coated me from head to toe. I coughed and flipped the driver off.

"Could you be any ruder? Do you practice for this or something? Are there classes in how to be a rude driver? Because sign me up! I'm sick of being the polite one who doesn't honk her horn at every little irritating thing! I mean _really_ some people should have their horn rights revoked!"

The cart rider glanced over his shoulder at me. His thick, black eyebrows narrowed in confusion and a frowned created creases in his cheeks.

"You should not be so harsh on the poor man. He—"

What? Why are you interrupting me again? Can I just finish my story and then we save the questions until later? What? Dad? Oh right! Dad's going to tell the story of how he came from Bree to Ohio. Right. Yeah. That's supposed to be during this Skip…but I'm not in Ohio… Oh right! Ha…you're going to think this is really funny. See, I totally forgot that I don't actually return to Ohio for quite a while yet. Not until Aragorn leads a suicide march on the Black Gates. Oops. Hope you'll forgive me for that little misunderstanding.

Anyway, don't interrupt. Interrupting isn't allowed. It makes me lose my train of thought. Where was I?

I ended up sitting on the side of a dirt road. A cart with straw in it had just trundled by, sending up a cloud of dirt that coated me from head to toe. I coughed and flipped the driver off.

"Could you be any ruder? Do you practice for this or something? Are there classes in how to be a rude driver? Because sign me up! I'm sick of being the polite one who doesn't honk her horn at every little irritating thing! I mean _really_ some people should have their horn rights revoked!"

The cart rider glanced over his shoulder at me. His thick, black eyebrows narrowed in confusion and a frowned created creases in his cheeks.

"You should not be so harsh on the poor man. He has been driving that cart since daybreak."

My heart froze. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. That voice. Slowly, dreading the speed that my heart was racing at, I turned to see who had spoken.

That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face. That face.

I swallowed. There was huge lump in my throat and I could barely force the word out.

"Boromir."

That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name. That name.

The man leaned back a little and squinted at me. At first, he did not recognize me, but then a flash of understand crossed his face. He grinned. "Ana. It is nice to see that you are not drunk this time we meet."

I cried.


	67. The Ricocheter

**LXVII: The Ricocheter**

I was sitting in a tavern. Boromir, pre-Council of Elrond Boromir, sat in front of me, sipping a mug of ale and watching me tentatively to see if I showed signs of bursting into tears again. He needn't have worries. I had past the crying stage and had moved on to the random fits of laughter stage.

"So we're in Rohan?" I said.

Boromir eyed me suspiciously. "You did not know that?"

"I suffer from short-term memory loss," I said. "The moment I learn something, I forget it. It makes it very difficult to travel. What was your name again?"

Boromir squinted at me for a second, trying to figure out if I was kidding or not. Then, suddenly, he realized that I was and a huge grin spread across my face. "My name is Gorbulas."

I blinked and then scooped up my drink in order to cover up my smile. "I knew that. Gorbulas is such a great name. Filled with prestige and nobility, you know?"

Boromir, completely straight faced now, took a draught of his ale. "It was my grandfather's name. He was a proud lord of Gondor. Gorbulas the Highborn."

"Fascinating," I said, leaning forward, my eyes wide with interest.

"It is, is it not? Your name is Ana, right?"

"Ana is my middle name. My actually name is Jimmy-Jimmy-Bob-Jimmy-Bob-Bob-Jimmy-Bob."

I'm pretty sure Boromir almost choked on his drink. "That is the mouthful," said Boromir, swallowing once of twice. "Jimmy-Bob-Jim-Bob-Bob?" He laughed. "I have never heard such strange names."

"Just call me Ana," I said.

"How did you ride here so quickly?" asked Boromir. "Last I saw you, you were in Gondor. I left that very afternoon on Gondor's swiftest horse. Unless you have wings, you could not have reached here faster than me."

"I'm special," I said, leaning back in my seat and grinning broadly at him. "I don't travel, I just skip from place to place. Or hop. Like a rabbit. Maybe I can be called the Hopper. I think that's a way better name than the Skipper. Don't you?"

Boromir opened his mouth and then closed it. "What are you talking about?"

"The Leaper. The Springer. The Jumper. The Hurdler. The Bouncer—oh, that one has a ring to it Or I could ricochet from place to place. Yes! I want to be called the Richocheter! Hello, nice to meet you, I am Jimmy-Jimmy-Bob-Jimmy-Bob-Bob-Jimmy-Bob, the Ricocheter."

Boromir stared at me. I don't think he was capable of coming up with words to describe me. He filled the silence by taking a sip of ale. It was only when he lowered the mug from his lips that he found a voice. "I think you should remain the Skipper. The Ricocheter sounds pretentious."

I grinned. "Oh my God, I've missed you so much."

"Missed me?" asked Boromir. "We barely known one another."

"I make friends fast," I said.

"And then forget them," said Boromir. "You suffer from short term memory loss, remember?"

"Of course I don't remember that I have short term memory loss. That's what short term memory loss is." I paused. "What was your name again?"

Boromir was shaking with laughter at this point. He was practically doubled over the edge of the table, clutching his stomach. I stared at him for a moment, a smile dancing along my lips. I'd missed him. You have no idea how much I missed him. I can sit here and tell you all about the twisting hole in my chest that thrives on my memories every night. I can tell you about the cups of hot chocolate I've drank, thinking of his hatred for coffee. I can tell you all about what Boromir meant to me, but I still couldn't make you understand.

"Are you unhappy?"

I glanced at Boromir. His blue eyes were wide with concern. I blinked and realized that my eyes were watering up again. I slapped my cheeks. The sound of palm on face snapped through the tavern and several people turned around in their seats to get a good look at my red, puffed face.

"I'm done crying," I told a confused Boromir. "I swear, I could fill a bathtub with the amount of tears I shed. Or maybe a swimming pool. We could have a pool party! That would be awesome. It'll be a pool party of dwarves and men and no elves allowed because we don't like elves."

Boromir shook his head. "You have not change in the slightest."

"Really?" I asked, picking up the mug. "Because I think I've changed quite a lot."

Boromir opened his mouth, but before any sound could come out, the scenery changed. I was no longer in a tavern sharing drinks with Boromir, but rather I was sitting on a black throne still clutching the mug of ale in my right hand. I was in a throne room. A black and white throne room that, with a sudden jolt, I realized was in Minas Tirith. I sat upright and looked around, searching for Denethor who would try to throw me in jail again. Instead, I found that the steward of Gondor was nowhere to be found. Instead, his (well, I suppose it is Aragorn's) throne room was filled with strangers. Legolas stood to the far end of the hall, his arms crossed and leaning against a white pillar. Gimli had taken a seat in a wooden chair and was smoking a pipe. Gandalf was standing a little to my left, his arms folded across his chest and his lips curved into a frown beneath his white beard. At the far end of the hall, Aragorn and Eomer had paused mid-stride. They came from the huge black door and seemed to be making their way across the room, stopping at my sudden arrival. There were other men there, but I don't remember their names or faces.

"Aw shit," I said. "Stupid Skip—could you _at least_ let me say good-bye?"

A blanket silence filled the room. All eyes were fixed on me. Members of the Fellowship seemed more resigned to my sudden arrival, while the people I had never met before looked ready to pass out. One stocky man with a black beard actually had the nerve to point at me.

I smiled and waved at him. "It's rude to stare, you know."

The man (I think his name might have been possibly maybe Tarin) gawked at me and quickly dropped his hand back to his side.

"I forgot," said Eomer, making his way across the hall. "How disconcerting it is to see Ana Skip for the first time."

"Ricochet," I corrected.

"Skip?" asked the supposed Tarin. "Do you mean to say that this girl is the Skipper?"

"I prefer the term woman," I said. "And the term the Ricocheter."

"The Ricocheter?" asked Legolos, one eyebrow raised.

"The Skipper is such a dull name," I said. "What unimaginative person came up with that? The Ricocheter sounds so much more exciting, you know?"

"No," said Legolas.

"I am certain you invented the name, the Skipper," said Gimli.'

"No, I didn't," I said flatly. I leaned back on the black throne and grinned at Gimli. "You dream about the funniest things, Gimli." (I'm pretty sure Eomer was rolling his eyes in the background.)

"Ana," said Aragorn, stepping in front of me. "That is my throne."

"It's not very comfy," I said. "Kind of blocky."

"It is an heirloom of my house," said Aragorn.

"I always imagined the throne of Gondor to be gold and jeweled, you know? My response is one word—disappointed. Can we call up your ancestors and ask them to make a comfier and more ostentatious throne?"

Aragorn sighed. "Do try not to be insulting in their throne room."

"I'm not insulting _them_, just their craftsmanship."

Tarin blinked and looked from left to right at the men on either side of him. "Is she _allowed_ to do that?"

Gandalf coughed. Instantly, all eyes turned to him. Gandalf patted his chest. "Just clearing my throat. Though, now that I have your attention, may I suggest that we proceed with the matters of upmost importance."

"Of course," said Aragorn. He moved towards his throne, but did not kick me out of it. He leaned against the black armrest and folded his arms over his chest, gazing grimly out at the hall full of his advisors. "We should discuss our next course of actions."

"Question!" I said, thrusting my hand into the air. "What time am I in?"

Tarin (I forget which advisor and lord said what, so when someone whose face I don't remember speaks, he will simply be represented by Tarin. Basically, Tarin equals nine advisors.) Tarin scoffed and muttered something to himself about how ridiculous I was.

"The Battle of Pelennor Fields ended yesterday." Aragorn paused and frowned. "You are supposed to be in the Houses of Healing. You appeared with bloody flowing from your chest. How did you recover so quickly?"

I laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of my head. "Long story. Anyway, council! Wow. Big decisions to make. Discussion time! Discussion time! Let's all discuss important things!"

No one moved.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Discuss!"

Gandalf shook his head at me. However, he did start speaking. "We have achieve victory in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. We have pushed back Sauron's forces. It is a retreat he never suspected. However, he shall return in even greater numbers. At this point, we cannot win through strengths of arms, we can only delay the inevitable. We may win one battle, but Sauron will only send more forces and we will have to fight another battle and another. The war will continue until there are none of us left to fight."

"Well, that's a depressing thought," I said.

"For once," said Tarin. "I agree with the Skipper."

"The Ricocheter," I said, waggling my finger at Tarin. "The Ricocheter. Spread the word."

"Ana," said Gandalf, turning to me.

"Yes?"

"I am aware of your struggles to pay attention, but I need you to focus just a little longer."

Before I could respond, Gandalf turned back to the group. "We cannot claim victory through strength of arms. Our victory lies with the element of surprise. Two hobbits now wander through the lands of Mordor, ever aiming for the Mountain of Fire. They carry with them a great burden. One that if it is cast into the flames of the mountain, Sauron will cease to exist."

"Hobbits?" asked Tarin.

"Halflings," said Eomer helpfully.

"Adorable," I said. "If you're ever looking for a homey place to stay, check of Bag End."

Gandalf shot me a look.

"Sorry," I said, waving. "Carry on."

"There is a problem," said Gandalf. "The remainder of Sauron's army lies between the hobbits and Mount Doom. Thousands upon thousands of orcs. With their presence, Frodo's mission becomes impossible."

A heavy silence had filled the hall. The scenery itself seemed to fade out of existence as our attention on Gandalf sharpened dramatically, until all we could see was the White Wizard. The rest of the world had become black with unimportance.

It was Eomer who managed to break the deadened silence. He swallowed and managed to get out the question: "How do you know these things?"

"Ana," said Gandalf.

"What?" I asked.

Gandalf sighed. "Ana provided the information about Mordor's armies."

"I did?" I paused to consider this. The images of Frodo and Sam's pale faces flashed before my eyes. A sharp pain shot through my chest. I slapped my cheeks and then grinned at the room. "I did! The armies are massive. The Black Lands are filled with the filthy of orcs. It's nasty."

"We are going to trust her?" asked Tarin.

"Ana has proved herself trust worthy," grunted Gimli. "Many times more than you, _Lord_."

"What are you implying, _Dwarf_?" asked Tarin. "And if I were you, I would choose my next words _very_ carefully."

Gimli started to rise from his seat, his right hand drifting towards his axe. Legolas placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder and, slowly, Gimli lowered himself back into his seat, still shooting threatening glares in Tarin's direction.

"Bickering will not help us in this dark hour," said Gandalf. "Control yourselves."

"I'm not doing anything wrong this time," I said.

Gandalf ignored me. "Our only hope is to protect Frodo and Sam."

"Then we must march on the Black Gates," said Aragorn.

That was not the answer anyone was expecting. Gimli choked on the smoke coming from his pipe. Legolas seemed to pale a little. Tarin almost fainted. Eomer frowned deeply at the thought. I almost died coughing as I swallowed my surprise.

"What!?" I cried, my voice a little squeaky.

"This is insane," said Tarin, clutching his chest. "We will die."

"We will succeed," said Aragorn. "There is no point in our survival if Frodo and Sam die. We must put our own lives at risk in order to protect the future of Middle Earth. If we sit here and wait, undoubtedly, Frodo and Sam will fail. If we march on the Black Gate, we might succeed in drawing out Sauron's armies and giving Frodo and Sam free passage through Mordor. I cannot speak for you, but I would rather rise to the challenge than sit behind white walls and watch from a distance as the world falls into ruin."

Tarin swallowed. "Surely there must be another way."

"One that's not quite so…suicidal," I said.

"We you not in support of drawing out Sauron's armies?" asked Gandalf.

"Well, yeah," I said. "When that was from a safe distance. A march on the Black Gate is like knocking on the front door of your neighbor who just so happens to be a crazy old man with a shot gun and asking him if he would like some Girl Scout Cookies. It just doesn't work."

"It will work," said Aragorn.

Eomer sighed. "I do not understand your metaphor, but I think you are missing the part where your friend sneaks in through the back and leaves the Girl Scout Cookies in the kitchen."

"Oh," I said. "And my friend would be Frodo and Sam." I paused and considered this. "But we still have to worry about whether the old man gets us with the shot gun or not."

"We could knock on the door and then flee," said Eomer.

"Such tactics might prolong the war," said Aragorn. "But what if Sauron looks inward before pursuing us. He might discover Frodo and Sam if he is given a moment's rest. We must keep him constantly occupied."

"I don't understand," I said.

Eomer snorted. "Think of it this way. If we use the knock on the door and then flee tactic, we risk the possibility that the old man will simply shut the door and return to his kitchen, only to discover your friend leaving Girl Scout Cookies."

"Then she gets hit with the shotgun?" I asked.

"Yes," said Eomer grimly.

"Well," I said. "Better her than me."

"Ana," groaned Gandalf, while Tarin looked scandalized at the thought.

"Sorry," I said. "Couldn't help myself. So, what are our other options?" I looked hopefully at Legolas and Gimli.

"What if Sauron does not take the bait?" asked Legolas.

I turned to Eomer, who said, "What if the old man does not answer the door, but stays in his kitchen and sees your friend sneaking in."

"He will take the bait," said Aragorn.

"Oh! Oh!" I raised my hand into the air. "I got this one! Aragorn will ring the doorbell over and over and over and over again until it drives the old man insane and the old man _has_ to answer the door to tell Aragorn to shut up." I paused and then added, "But that will only increase the likelihood of being shot."

"What is she saying?" asked Tarin.

"She is saying that if Aragorn were to march on the Black Gates," said Eomer. "His presence would infuriate Sauron, who fears the return of the king, and Sauron will most certainly take the bait."

"She actually understands such things?" asked Tarin, looking at me with new respect.

"Do not look so impressed," said Legolas. "Eomer undoubtedly edited in his translations."

Eomer didn't deny it.

"We must march," said Aragorn.

"It is a doomed march," said Tarin. "We have no more than eight thousand men."

"But it is a march that we must make, nonetheless," said Aragorn.

I drummed my fingers on the armrest of the throne and gazed up at Aragorn's back. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling of sand running through an hourglass, as if my world was slipping away. The image of Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli, Gandalf, Merry, Pippin, Gaenry, and even Legolas marching on the Black Gates. The army of Mordor in all its numbers attacking with their weapons raised high. My friends would not survive.

I took a deep breath. "Do what you have to do."

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder at me, surprised. "I expected more protest out of you."

I shook my head. "Something has to change."

A frown appeared on Aragorn lips. "Why must something change?"

I shrugged. "To save Frodo and Sam."

"Do you know what happens to Frodo and Sam?"

My fingers, beating against the wooden armrest, stopped. I did not look at Aragorn, but kept my eyes glued to the black wood. "It's part of the job description."

"Is being the Skipper so difficult?"

I sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you? I am the Ricocheter now!"

"That will never catch on," said Legolas. "You will be doomed to the name the Skipper for the rest of your existence."

"Well, that's not going to be for very long," I said. "Since we're going to march on the Black Gates."

Actually, that was a lie. I didn't join the march on the Black Gates. At least, not then. Because I Skipped only five minutes after that. Needless to say, I think I gave Tarin permanent trauma after he saw me disappear. Hopefully the Houses of Healing offer a psych ward as an added bonus.

* * *

**A/N: Firstly, thank you so much for all the reviews I received last chapter! They meant so much to me! So happy! Unfortunately, I couldn't review because of the overwhelming workload, but then I had a really bad day today, so I said "Screw life. I'm going to write and it'll make me feel better." **

**Secondly, this is more of a plot chapter, but a necessary chapter nonetheless. I tried to make it humorous (as I do almost everything) so I hope I succeeded. **

**Thirdly, next is a Thorin chapter. **

**Please review. **


	68. The Majestic Bandwagon

**Chapter LXVIII: The Majestic Bandwagon**

Have you ever heard of the Enchanted River? Well, yeah, you're right. The term 'Enchanted River' could be referring to a lot of things. Have you ever heard of the Enchanted River in Mirkwood? The one whose waters are pitch black and moves through the forest floor like a rippling sheet. It's a river just wide enough so no one can jump across. The river is a powerful thing. Even the trees and plants of Mirkwood shied away from the black waters. The branches reached in the opposite direction and the tree trunks leaned away. The riverbanks were browned and dry, the ground crackling beneath my feet as I approached the waters.

A boat. There was boat in the water. It was black like the river, which explained why I did not see it at first. It was small, just enough to fit two men/elves or three dwarves or four hobbits (sizes must be adjusted according to which race we are talking about). If we mix it up a little, I suppose we could fit one man and one dwarf. Or we could do one elf and two hobbits. Or one dwarf and three hobbits. Or two dwarves and two hobbits. I would say you could fit two elves and a dwarf, but I think a fight would break out and the boat would capsize into the enchanted river. And, as anyone with half a brain would know, nothing ever good comes from capsizing in an enchanted river.

I stood on the bank of the river, gazing into the tossing black water. "Well," I said. "This was fun. But I've got places to—"

"What is this cursed place?"

I turned around at the sound of a familiar grunting voice. My eyes narrowed and I peered through the trees searching for Dwalin's face.

"It is the Enchanted River that we were warned against," said Balin.

I spun around, but couldn't see his face either. They had to be somewhere. Their voices could not be floating around severed from their bodies…or _could_ they? What if they were dead and their voices were echoing around Mirkwood. That kind of weird, crazy thing would happen in Middle Earth. I can believe it.

"Do not touch the water," said Thorin. "If you do, it will cast you into a long, deep sleep."

I stepped away from the river's edge, shooting irritated glares at the treacherous river. I couldn't find Thorin as well. Perhaps he had also fallen prey to the-voice-separated-from-body curse.

No. No. No. No. No. I refuse. I reject my reality and substitute it with a better reality. Thorin, my dwarves, they were not going to die. They reach Laketown. I saw them escape Mirkwood and reach Laketown. But what if my presence changes the future. What if they really are dead? Nope. No. No. No. I don't care if their voices remain, I will not let them die. I don't care if the entire world is going to fall into the hands of a Dark Lord if they live, I will not let my dwarves die. Not a single one. Over my dead body.

"There is a boat!" cried Bilbo.

I glanced at the little black boat, swaying from side to side in the water. Then, I spun around in the direction I heard Bilbo's voice—and there, between two crooked, stooped trees, stood the hobbit. He turned pale at the sight of me, but as recognition slowly settled in, Bilbo relaxed and smiled.

"Ana," said Bilbo. "When did you arrive?"

"Oh my God, Bilbo!" I cried. "You're not dead!" I flung my arms around his neck, practically strangling him with my love. "You're living and breathing and you have an actual body! Not just a voice! A body!"

"What are you talking about?" asked Bilbo, trying to pry me off of him.

"Ana, stop trying to kill our burglar."

I released Bilbo and spun around to face Thorin. The rest of the dwarves were standing behind him. Some of the dwarves, Ori, Nori, Gloin, Oin, Bifur, Bombur, and Kili, looked surprised by my sudden appearance. The other looks resigned, like they half expected it. Thorin just looked annoyed.

"I thought you were dead," I said.

"We are not dead," cried Bofur. "Do not look so sad!"

Thorin sighed. "And why did you think that?"

"Because I could only hear your voices," I said. "I was worried something had killed you and your voices were floating around Mirkwood saying random things."

The dwarves stared at me for a moment.

"How are we going to cross the river?" asked Balin.

"We will use the boat, of course," said Thorin.

"It does not look completely trustworthy," said Dori, eyeing the little black boat.

"I do not see it," said Ori. He stood up on tiptoe and tried to see the boat over Dori's shoulder.

"It's camouflaged," I said.

"I see it!" cried Ori.

"We can cross about three at a time," said Balin.

"Or four at a time if you're all hobbits," I said.

Bilbo shook his head and smiled weakly at me. "Sometimes I find myself wondering what goes through your mind to create such comments. Then, I realize that I do not want to understand you on any level since it is probably an indication that I am going insane."

I blinked. "Hey… Did I just get dissed by Bilbo Baggins?"

"Yes," said Gloin. "Yes, you did."

"I have never seen anything so pitiful," said Fili. "You may have surpassed Kili."

Dwalin caught hold of the rope that connected the little black boat to the shore. The frayed rope was tied to one end of the boat and the wrapped around the trunk of a purple-brown tree. Dwalin pulled on the rope and the boat slid through the black waters until it bumped against the shore.

"Who shall go first?" asked Dwalin.

"I will," said Thorin. He moved nearer to the river. He spared nothing more than a condescending glance toward the enchanted water before he stepped into the boat and settled into the farthest seat.

The other dwarves exchanged nervous glances, not trusting the unsteady boat in such dangerous waters. But Thorin's boldness gave them courage. Kili and Dori joined Thorin in the boat.

The method to get across the river was simple. Dwalin would slowly let out the rope and the boat would drift away from the shore and across the stream. The rope was just long enough for the boat to cross the river and the dwarves inside to hop out onto the opposite shore. After Thorin, Kili, and Dori had exited the boat without touching the pitching black water, Dwalin pulled the boat back to the other side of the river for the next load of dwarves to board.

Next went Fili, Bifur, and Balin and after them Oin, Gloin, and Bofur. I watched with growing apprehension each time Dwalin pulled the boat back over the water. The black surface rippled and trembled under the smooth movements of the boat. Yet no matter how easy and graceful the boat seemed, I could only feel a sense of growing apprehension and dread. The boat was not to be trusted.

I gazed across the river as Ori, Nori, and Bilbo drifted to the other side. Bilbo looked petrified, his little hands clutching the sides of the boat so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Ori was taking deep, claiming breaths while Nori kept looking left and right, twitching like a caged animal.

"You know," I said. "I could just stay here and not get in the boat. Eventually I'll just Skip away. I don't _have_ to cross the river."

Dwalin gave me an irritated glance, but didn't say anything as he was preoccupied with pulled the black boat back across the water.

"I do not get along well with boats," said Bombur.

"I don't get along well with boats on enchanted rivers," I said.

Bombur shook his head, a movement that cause all his layers of fat to jiggle back and forth. "Boats do not agree with hefty dwarves."

"Now that I can agree with," I said.

The boat reach the shore and Dwalin placed one foot in the bottom of the boat to hold it in place. He kept his other foot on the shore and turned to stare at us. "Your turn."

I glanced at the little boat and then back at the broad, muscular Dwalin. "Oh Dwalin of the long and magnificent beard—have I mentioned it is one of the most magnificent beards I have ever seen? It is almost of majestic proportions. Whenever I see that beard of yours, I can only tremble in awe of its perfection and wonder why I was not born a dwarf so that I too may grow such a long, magnificent beard. Oh Dwalin, could you take the boat without me?"

Dwalin stared at me for a moment, stroking his thick, brown beard. Bombur moved to get into the boat, but Dwalin stopped him.

"Hold it in place," grunted Dwalin.

Bombur looked confused, but he did as commanded and held the side of the boat so that it did not drift away. Then, Dwalin walked towards me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

Dwalin didn't answer, he just kept coming closer.

I took a step back. "No. Don't come any closer. I will unleash a can of Sword Breaker whoop-ass on you."

Dwalin stood directly in front of me. A slow grin spread across his usually grim face. "I use axes."

"What?"

He leaned forward and scooped me from the ground. He slung me over his shoulder and turned back to the boat. I screamed and pounded his back with my fists.

"Stop! Stop! Stop! This is no way to approach an enchanted river! Stop!"

Dwalin dropped me into the boat. It rocked from side to side, dangerously close to dumping me into the black water. I screamed and covered my face in my hands. "Not like this! Not like this! Damn it, Dwalin! I take back what I said about your beard! That's one ugly beard! Ugly! Your mother would be ashamed to see her some with such a deformed beard as that!"

Bombur moved into the boat after me. It sank deeper into the water, rocking unsteadily under Bombur's massive weight. I squeaked. Dwalin, still holding the rope sat down at the end of the boat. He glanced at me and let out a distinct 'hmph' and then turned away. He let out a little bit of the rope at a time and we slowly drifted to the other side of the river where the other dwarves were watching us apprehensively. I couldn't see all too well, since I was lying down at the bottom of the boat, but I peeked through my fingers and could see the nervously grinning face of Fili. I tried to smile back, but Bombur shifted in his seat, sending the boat swaying from side to side, and the terror cause me to wrench my eyes shut.

The boat bumped against the shore and, for a second, my heart felt lighter. I sat up in the boat and grinned excitedly at the dwarves. "I'm alive. And awake."

"Of course you are," grunted Thorin.

I moved to hop out of the boat and onto the shore. Unfortunately, I moved at the same time as Bombur. The boat rocked unevenly beneath us. My legs banged against the wooden side of the boat, mu balance upset, I tumbled forward, crashing towards the pitching waters of the river.

"Ana!"

Inches from touching the water, I was snatched from sleep's clutches by Bifur. I toppled onto the bank, the ground crunched beneath me. I groaned and rolled onto my back, staring back at the boat and the black river.

Somehow, Dwalin had managed to remain standing in the wildly rocking boat. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was Not Amused. I smiled weakly at him and he stepped out of the boat back onto the shore.

"Bombur! Bombur! Open your eyes! Bombur! Do not fall asleep on us!"

I rolled over onto my side and saw the dwarves cluster around the circular-shaped body of Bombur. The dwarf, after having stepped into the river, was now dozing on the river bank.

"Man," I said. "He's not waking up any time soon."

Fili groaned. "It could not have been a lighter person that Bombur?"

"Why could Ana not have fallen into the water?" asked Kili. "I could carry her on my back without a problem."

"Aw," I said. "You're so sweet Kili."

"He is not complimenting you," said Thorin. "Any one of us would be lighter than Bombur."

"Do you have to ruin everything?" I asked. "Can I have one moment to enjoy a compliment?"

"No," said Thorin. "That would be too kind."

"You're a jerk," I said. "A majestic jerk, but a jerk nonetheless."

Thorin smirked at me, but did not say anything more. Instead, he turned his attentions to the unconscious Bombur. Bofur, Ori, and Oin were still crowded around the fat dwarf, trying in vain to revive him.

"We must continue onward," said Thorin. "We do not have much time before Durin's Day and the opening of the door. I do not know how much time the journey through Mirkwood will take us. We cannot afford delay."

"Do you propose we leave Bombur?" asked Dori incredulously.

"Of course not," said Thorin. "We will carry him."

"_What_?"

In case you haven't figure it out, what Thorin meant by "We will carry him" is that everyone else will carry Bombur on their backs while Thorin supervises from a safe distance. Even I, the weak and pitiful girl in the group, was badgered into helping to carry Bombur. I joined the Company as they lifted Bombur above their heads—Balin at the front, Dwalin in the middle, with Ori and Dori taking care of the feet. I stood beneath Bombur's pudgy right shoulder blade with Oin to my left and Gloin behind me. I figured out that since I had two strong dwarves on either side of me, if I bent my knees just a little, I could put my share of the weight on Oin and Gloin, but make it _look_ like I was doing my share of the work.

"Look at Thorin," I said, glaring at the proud dwarf walking in the front of the group. "He's too majestic to do some grunt work."

"He is leading us through Mirkwood," said Bofur. "That is a very important taks that requires his upmost attention."

I sighed. "Why are we letting the directionally challenged dwarf lead us?"

"I am not directionally challenged," said Thorin loudly.

"Who was three hours late to the meeting at Bag End?" I asked.

"Who was not supposed to be there in the first place?" asked Thorin.

"Hey," I said. "I was an hour early and I wasn't even meant to be there. What does that say about you?"

Bilbo managed a weak smile. "Majesty is never late. Nor is majesty early. Majesty arrives precisely when majesty means to."

"Oh. My. God. Bilbo," I said. "If we weren't carry an unconscious, fat dwarf right now, I would hug you."

Thorin sighed. "Bilbo, you have obviously been talking to Gandalf far too much recently."

"Don't question it!" I shouted at Thorin. "Bilbo has converted to the majestic bandwagon. Don't scare him away!" I glanced over my shoulder at Bilbo. "Oh my God! This is so exciting! I have a fellow majestic Thorin fan! Isn't it great? We should make t-shirts and merchandise, like little Thorin bobbleheads or something, And we should get matching tattoos of Thorin's face. Except I'm afraid of needles. Scratch that tattoo idea. We'll just buy just-add-water majestic Thorin tattoos and wear those! This is so exciting!"

Gloin glanced over his shoulder at Bilbo and smiled. "You have dug your own grave and climbed into it."

Bilbo paled and hung his head. "Have I doomed myself to a life of majestic Thorin?"

There came a chorus of "yes" from the dwarves.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Bilbo. There's no escape from the majestic bandwagon. They never let you out alive. **

**Please review!**


	69. Power To The Short People

**LXIX: Power To The Short People**

I never did stay long enough to see Bombur wake up from his nap. After hours of bickering and explaining to Bilbo the importance of majesty, we took a break at one point and I Skipped away in the middle of a very important conversation with Ori about how to knit cardigans. I opened my eyes and found myself sitting on a rough, gray rock in the middle of a vast grassland. It looked vaguely familiar and, after a moment, I realized it was part of Rohan. I got to my feet and looked around. Left. Right. Forward. Back. Up. Down. No one. I was completely alone.

"Well, that's just great."

I crossed my arms and tapped my foot impatiently against the grassy ground. "Any time you want to Skip me away…"

Nothing happened.

"How rude."

I plopped back down on the rock and stretched my legs out in front of me. I was still wearing the black jeans from when I Skipped away from home. I'd washed them a couple times (when I could borrow clothes from something else) since my arrival. My shirt had change, however. After the Battle of Pelennor Fields, my shirt was permanently ruined with dirt and blood, so I stole one from Faramir (I kid you not—he was unconscious and on the verge of death, I don't think he'll notice). It was an oversized brown shirt that laced up in the front and had a black belt around the waist. I looked sufficiently manly for Middle Earth.

A chilly breeze swept through the flatland, causing the grass to ripple like the waves of the ocean. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my shoulders. Maybe I should move somewhere to find shelter.

"I'm a little Ana popsicle," I muttered, glaring at the sky.

I swear that the sky laughed at me and sent another gust of wind through the grass.

"You—" and then I utter a word that no human being ought to utter.

"Ana!"

For a fleeting second, I thought the sky had actually responded. The sky was actually going to lecture me on appropriate language. Holy shit. I mean, oh shit. I mean, oh. Oh wow.

"Ana!"

The voice clicked the recognition switch in my brain and I turned around to see three figures sprinting across the grassland towards me. As they drew closer, their faces grew clearer. The man in the front was Aragorn, tall and muddy as always. Behind him was the flawless Legolas (stupid pretty boy) and bringing up the rear was short, stout Gimli.

"Ana!" cried Aragorn again. He came to a halt right in front of me. "You are here."

"Yes?" I said. "I tend to be everywhere."

"We do not have long to talk," said Legolas, stopping beside Aragorn.

"Oh, you _really _don't like me, do you?" I said. "Well, hate to break it to you, _elf_, but Aragorn and Gimli like me and they may just want to chat."

"We do not have long to talk," said Aragorn.

"Oh," I murmured, while Legolas raised his cocky eyebrows at me in their usual 'I'm an elf so I'm always frigging right' position.

"We are in pursuit," said Aragorn.

"Pursuit of what?" I asked.

"A party of uruk-hai," said Legolas. "They have taken Merry and Pippin captive."

I scanned through my memory of Merry and Pippin. If I remember correctly, they were kidnapped by uruk-hai when Boromir…was taken out of action. They escaped the uruk-hai into Fangorn forest while the uruk-hai were slaughtered by Eomer and co. Treebeard then found Merry and Pippin and eventually sparked the ents into war, which brought about the destruction of Saruman. They enjoyed a nice meal in Isengard before Aragorn, Gandalf, Theoden, Eomer, Legolas, and Gimli arrived.

"They're fine," I said, waving away Legolas's comment. "What's the rush? You can stay here and chat with me."

"Fine?" asked Legolas. "They have been taken captive by uruk-hai. They are taking the hobbits to Isengard. There, Merry and Pippin will be tortured into confessing the location of the Ring."

"They're fine," I said. I awkwardly patted Legolas on the shoulder. "Why so tense?"

"How do you know they are fine?" asked Legolas.

"Who do you take me for?" I asked. "I'm the frigging-digging-frig-a-dig Skipper. I know these things."

"What did you just call yourself?" asked Aragorn.

"Ana!" Gimli appeared between Legolas and Aragorn. The poor dwarf seemed out of breath, gasping and panting and dripping buckets of sweat. "What are…you doing…here?" Poor Gimli looked like he was about to topple over and kick the bucket.

"I'm just passing through," I said. "Speaking of passing, please don't pass out on me."

Gimli glowered at me, before the shortness of breath took over and he had to leaned forward and focus all his attention on breathing in and out.

"That was worse than your usual jokes," said Legolas. "Are you even trying?"

"It's been a long…" I paused. "Week? Month? Year? I don't even know what time it is in my life."

"We all have," said Aragorn. "War puts time and life on hold."

"Yeah," I said. "But in my case, time puts time and life on hold. Or, not necessarily on hold. It just sort of barges in, shakes things up, and then leaves me sitting on a rock in the middle of nowhere trying to figure out why the sky hates me."

"That sounds complicated," said Legolas.

"Yes, yes, it is."

Aragorn glanced over his shoulder in the direction they had been headed. There was a large rock formation jutting out of the grass landscape. Aragorn stared at them for a moment, before turning back to the rest of us.

"We must move on," said Aragorn "In all haste if we hope to catch the uruk-hai before nightfall."

"Merry and Pippin are fine," I said. Aragorn stared at me for a moment, his jaw set in the usually stubborn position. I sighed. "Fine. I'll come along."

"Aragorn did say 'in all haste,'" said Legolas. "By default, that excludes you."

"I knew there was a reason I hated you," I snapped. "And ot just because you're an elf. Though that's reason enough. Though maybe it's because you're an elf that you're so stuck up. So maybe all elves are stuck up and that's the reason I hate you. So, yeah. I hate you because you're an elf."

"Stuck up?" repeated Legolas.

I smiled as sweetly as I could. "Would you like that stick removed from your backsi—"

"We have to go," said Aragorn.

He started the run, his legs pumping as he sprinted across the grassland, his sword swinging at his side. Legolas bounded after him, determination written all over his elfy face. Gimli and I exchanged exhausted glances and then made chase.

As my short legs worked and my arms swung, all I could think was how glad I was that I had started to work out at the gym on a semi-regular basis (how regular can I be when I Skip all the time?). The run seemed endless. Just a never ending sprint to the finish line. The first half hour, I wasn't too bad. But when the first hour drew to a close I was huffing and puffing along with Gimli.

"This isn't fair," I gasped.

We were falling further and further behind Legolas and Aragorn until all we could distinguish them by was that Legolas had a brilliant blond hair and Aragorn didn't.

"All day," said Gimli. "Every day. You have only just begun the run."

"I have short legs!" I wailed.

"Do you?"

I glanced at Gimli and saw that the dwarf was glaring at me. I grinned sheepishly and laughed. "We can form the short legs club."

Gimli scoffed. "It is not that we have short legs, but that elves and men have long legs."

"Exactly!" I cried. "Those elfers!"

Way up ahead, Legolas glanced over his shoulder. He saw us far behind him and waved at us to catch up. His blond hair bounded up and down in rhythm with his run. Aragorn saw us too and shouted something to egg us on. We couldn't hear him since we were so far behind.

"They're probably laughing at us," I said, huffing and puffing in between each word.

"We could cut off their legs," said Gimli. "Just below the knees. Then they would be normal height."

"Normal height would be too generous," I said. "We should just take both legs and then laugh at them—who's the shorty now?"

Both Gimli and I were red in the face. We were covered in sweat and dust and our breathing came in short, sharp pants. We looked a mess. And somewhere up ahead of us was Legolas, that frigging elf, who was in perfect condition. Not even a drop of sweat on brow.

"Can we please cut off their legs?" I asked.

"Yes," said Gimli. "We will attack when they least expect it."

"From behind," I said.

"Now."

We surged forward, using the last of our already exhausted strength to sprint forward after Legolas and Aragorn. Gimli kept his hand near his axe, ready to strike as soon as we got close enough. I kept a first grasp on the Sword Breaker's hilt. We had one shot at this. I couldn't mess it up. This was my moment. No. Not just my moment. This was our moment. The moment where the short people—dwarves, midgets, and all vertically challenge people—would triumph over the giants of the land. I could not mess up this moment. My success meant success for all of us. This was our time. Power to the short people!

"Ana, Gimli, so you have finally decided to join us." Legolas turned around and gave us that snooty elf look that only he possessed. (Him and his father. Thranduil has that look too. That 'I'm an elvenking and I'm too good for you' look.)

"You…You…"

Before I could cut off Legolas's long legs, my own legs gave out beneath me and I went crashing, face first, into the grassy ground. I lay there more a moment, enjoying the fact that my legs _weren't_ moving. I never knew being lazy could feel so good.

There was a dull thud and I realized that Gimli had collapsed on the ground next to me. Us two shorties lay on the ground, gasping and panting, trying to find the air and failing to actually capture it. Every inch of my ached. My head. My legs. My arms. My stomach. My chest. I was sore and tired and I was never running like this again.

"You cannot give in now. We are close."

I rolled over onto my back and opened one eye. I could see the fuzzy outline of Aragorn standing over me.

"Go on without me," I said. "I'm good right here."

"Merry and Pippin are in danger," said Aragorn.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" I asked. "They're fine. More than fine. Treebeard looks after them."

"Who?"

"Exactly."

Aragorn shook his head and moved away from me. "You may rest for a short while, but we cannot lost what we have only just gained."

"Gimli," I moaned. "That was the perfect opportunity."

"Why did you not do the deed?" asked Gimli.

"My arms are dead."

"So are mine."

I sighed. "The short people have failed."

"Not failed," said Gimli. "Delayed. We shall strike back another day."

"Right after I have a good, long nap."

I closed my eyes and all of a sudden I was no longer lying in the gentle grass, enjoying my break from having to run. There was something hard and possibly metal jutting into my left shoulder blade. And something curved and sharp prodding my lower back. The ground was lumpy and hard, like a bed made of scrap metal.

I opened my eyes. "Don't tell me…"

I was sitting on a pile of gold. It was a less a pile of gold and more like a mountain of gold. Glittering gold. And jewels. Lots of jewels. Gold and jewels covered the hall, with its arching stone ceilings and intricate arches. It was a familiar sight. And all too familiar sight. And with it came on thing—Smaug.

"Don't eat me!"

I sat bolt upright and started clambering along the floor of golden cups, necklaces, bracelets, scepters, plates. The metal sung against each other with every touch and the hall echoed with the sound of my movements. I crawled across the mounds of gold, trying to find an empty spot where I could see the stone floor and settle there until the ringing noises stopped.

"Don't wake up! Keep on sleeping, Smaug! I'm not stealing anything! Just passing through!"

Why wouldn't the metal stop hitting each other! I was going to wake Smaug up and the dragon was going to eat me and I didn't taste good, I was all sweaty and gross from running and I would give him indigestion and if I was going to die being eaten, I at least want to know that I taste delicious going down and sweaty , gross Ana does not taste good. Could I be cooked in a Boston Cream Pie first or something? Or rice pudding. Yeah. I want to be rice pudding.

My right hand landed on a silver plate and suddenly a pile of riches collapsed beneath me. I was tumbling down the slope of gold at full speed. I barely had time to register what was happening when—smash—I slammed into another pile of gold. A metal helmet encrusted with red gems landed on my foot. I screamed in pain only to be whacked on the nose by a falling jewel.

"Ouch."

The jewel landed in my lap. I sat there, rubbing my aching nose and glowering at the jewel. It was a very pretty jewel. Dangerous though. Never trust a pretty jewel. Most likely, they're enchanted or cursed and will lead you to nothing but trouble. I'm just warning you. Not that you'll listen. You never listen.

I glanced down at the pretty jewel and then quickly looked around. Smaug had to have heard that ruckus. He had to know I was here. He was coming to eat me. Again.

"You can just go back to sleep," I said. "It's okay. I'll even sing you a lullaby. Not that it would help you go back to sleep, but I could get Thorin to sing you a lullaby. If you promise not to eat him. He has a beautiful singing voice."

I scanned the piles of treasure, trying to see some slight movement that might indicate where Smaug was hiding. But silence was my only response.

"Smaug?"

Nothing.

"Are you being grouchy? Because that's okay. You can pout as long and as hard as you like—just don't come near me."

Still no sign of the dragon. My arch nemesis was being shy. Which was weird. Because I don't think I've ever heard of a dragon being shy. Not that I'm an expert. Smaug is the only dragon I've known, and he was practically a social butterfly.

I glanced down at the glittering jewel in my lap. A smooth, oval stone that fit neatly in my hand. It was white. Well, sort of white. The kind of white that includes all the colors—blues, purples, pinks, reds, greens, yellows. It reflected the light even when there was no light to reflect. Almost as though the light was coming from the gem itself.

I looked left and right. Smaug was nowhere to be seen. Well, since the dragon hadn't tried to kill me yet, that meant he probably didn't have a problem with my presence. Which meant he wouldn't have a problem if I kept one little souvenir. I mean, Bilbo stole a frigging golden cup. I had to prove to the dwarves that I'd actually faced the dragon and his mounds of gold. And wasn't completely cowardly. Besides, what was one little rock compared to a golden cup? (I know what you're thinking. Was the _Skipper_ really saying that? Yeah. I was dumb back then.)

I cupped the jewel in my right hand and slowly started to crawl along the mountains of gold again. Now that I had calmed down a little and was no longer trying to flee the wrath of Smaug as fast as I could, I was able to scan the hall. I found the pathway pretty easily and was able to maneuver my way through the treasury to the empty space in the floor. Finally, I stood free on the stone-tiled ground.

I laughed with relief and glanced down at the little jewel. "I don't think Smaug'll miss you. He has jewels the size of my head in his hoard."

"Ana?"

I spun around and found myself face-to-face with none other than the king of majesty himself, Thorin.

For a second, I thought I had Skipped back to Erebor before Smaug attacked. But that made no sense, because Thorin had called me 'Ana' and he did not know me then. Which meant that this was on his quest with the Company. I glanced over Thorin's shoulder. No dwarves. No Bilbo. No Smaug.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I could ask you the same question," said Thorin.

"Have you defeated Smaug?"

"In the process."

I spun around, checking over my shoulder just in case. "He's still here?"

"He is in Laketown."

"Laketown? Why?"

Thorin hesitated for a second, as if loath to say what came next. "We think he mistook Bilbo for a man of Laketown and now he seeks his revenge."

"So, you're hiding in here while the people of Laketown take the brunt of Smaug's wrath?"

"Yes," said Thorin.

I snickered. "You have no right to call me a coward ever again."

Thorin opened his mouth to respond when his gaze snagged on the light in my hands. He froze and, as his stare intensified, his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened. He went very still, as if entranced. I glanced at Thorin and then at the jewel and then back to Thorin.

"What?" I asked.

"Where did you find that?" asked Thorin, his voice barely audible.

"It hit me on the nose."

"Do you know what it is?"

"Do I _look_ like I know what it is? All I know is that it's pretty and I found it and now it's mine. End of story."

"It is _mine_," said Thorin, a little forcefully. "It is an heirloom of my family. Mine to inherit before Smaug stole it."

I frowned. "What is it?"

"The Arkenstone."

I stared at Thorin and then at the jewel and then back to Thorin. I pulled the jewel closer to my chest. "Finders keepers."

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**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the short people out there! We shall triumph...one day. Just not today. And not with Ana and Gimli.**

**Reviews? Please? Share the love!**


	70. The Arkenstone

**LXX: The Arkenstone**

I'm not going to call this one of my finer moments in life. I've always prided myself on _not_ being greedy. My usual response to gold and jewels is "Oh. Pretty." and that's about it. So what made the Arkenstone so special? At the time, I was convince it was magic. I was holding a magic rock that cause anyone holding it to have an overwhelming desire to possess it. The rock was evil! Cursed! (I'm the Skipper, remember, I kind of overreact to the whole concept of a magic rock…) Looking back on it, I think the greed might have actually come from inside me. Like, maybe, maybe I just really like shiny things. Either way, I quickly realized how stupid the 'finders keepers' thing sounded. I mean, if Thorin _really_ wanted the Arkenstone, he could easily beat me into a pulp and take it from me. Tormenting him was not a good idea. But, it'd be really fun.

"Give me the Arkenstone, Ana."

There was a good five feet between Thorin and I. Enough space for me to bolt in the opposite direction if the need arises. Of course, the chances of actually escaping Thorin were slim, but I had a shot.

"How about…no?" I asked, smiling sweetly at him. "It's a nice rock. I think it'd look great on the mantel place."

"It is an _heirloom_ of my _house_," said Thorin. "Not a decorative piece."

"Knickknack," I said. "It's a knickknack."

Thorin shuddered. "You are refer to the noble Arkenstone as a _knickknack_?"

"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

Thorin took a step forward. I took a step backwards. He stopped moving a squinted at me, his brain working quickly behind his blue eyes.

"You are serious about this, are you?"

"Just a little," I said.

"You do not want the Arkenstone," said Thorin. "What good will it do you?"

"None at all," I said. "It just looks pretty." I lifted the stone into the air and waved it from side to side. "Look at it sparkle. Oh. Perdy."

Thorin lunged forward, his arms outstretched, trying to snatch the jewel from my grasp. I screeched and leapt backwards. I managed to snatch the Arkenstone out of Thorin's grasp just in time. We stood there, now three feet apart. Thorin stood up straight and glowered at me with the full might of his majesty. I held the Arkenstone to my chest and tried, with all the strength I could muster, to resist his majesty.

"Hand it over," said Thorin.

"No," I said.

"You are just being stubborn."

"I found it."

"I have led my people on a hopeless quest and—against all odds—we have reached Erebor. We have tricked the dragon into leaving his mountain unattended and his treasure hoard is at our mercy. The other dwarves and Bilbo are digging through the riches, taking their shares before the dragon returns. But I was none of those riches. All I want is that jewel clutched in your hands."

"Nope." I smiled. "Mine. I found it. I'm keeping it. No sharing."

"You are the one who always says 'sharing is caring'!"

"I changed my mind. I have reformed my ways."

Thorin tried to snatch the stone away again, but I yanked it out of reach. "Mine."

"You cannot surrender the Arkenstone even to majesty?" asked Thorin.

I gasped. "You would _not_ use that card against me."

"My majesty compels you to hand over the Arkenstone."

I swear, I was trembling in the presence of his majesty. I was going to give in. I had to give in. His majesty was something no mere creature could resist. But, by some miracle, I said, "You majesty ain't got nothing on me."

And then Thorin yanked the Arkenstone out of my hands.

"No!" I reached out for the stone, trying to take it back and ended up slapping the back of his hand.

In his surprise, Thorin dropped the Arkenstone. It landed with a clang on the stone floor and skirted away out of sight.

"Mine!" I cried, leaping after it.

Thorin grabbed my wrists and pulled me away. "It is not yours."

"It is now!"

"Never."

I slapped his shoulder. "You only want it because I have it!"

"What are you talking about? It is the heirloom I have been seeking for centuries!"

"My pretty stone. Not yours! Mine!"

"My father. My grandfather. We brought this mountain to the peak of its existence. We found the Arkenstone, the symbol of our power. Now my father is dead. My grandfather is dead. This stone is rightfully _mine_."

"I found it!"

And there we were. Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and Ana, the Skipper. In the middle of the treasury hall of Erebor, standing amongst Smaug's mighty hoard, arguing like five-year-old children. We were face to face. Thorin was holding my right wrist, while my left hand was paused in the middle of whacking Thorin on the shoulder. We stared at each other for a minute. Blue eyes to blue eyes. And then, we both laughed.

Well, I did most of the laughing. Thorin smiled though. Which I think is pretty impressive.

"What the hell?" I asked, clutching my sides which were about to burst from laughter. "_My majesty compels you to hand over the Arkenstone_?" My laughter doubled.

"I thought it might convince you."

"It didn't work."

"I can see that."

I ran a hand through my messy blond hair, trying to fix it a little after our fight. "Is the Arkenstone really such a big deal to you?"

Thorin nodded grimly. "It is a symbol of my kingship."

"You can have it." I turned around and stared down the cleared pathway in the treasury. I glanced over my shoulder at Thorin and grinned. "I was only teasing."

Thorin gritted his teeth. "You and your bad habits."

"Terrible," I said, shaking my head. "Terrible habits."

I turned the corner in the pathway and bent down to pick up the Arkenstone—only there was no Arkenstone. There were piles of gold, silvers, gems, cloth, and all the expenses of the world. But the glitter white jewel was no where to be seen.

"What is it?" asked Thorin.

His deep voice coming from behind me gave me a shock and I jumped into the air, suddenly alert.

"What?" I asked.

"Where is the Arkenstone?"

I glanced at the ground. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nowhere to be seen. "It's around here somewhere. I know. It disappeared around the corner…" I dropped down to all fours and started digging though a pile of gold coins. "Here…No. Here…No. Here…No. Here…No."

Behind me, Thorin grew very still. I could feel his watching my every move. I had to search harder. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. He was going to _kill_ me.

"You…" Thorin paused and took a deep breath. "You _lost_ the _Ark__enstone_?"

"No," I said, tossing a silver chalice over my shoulder. "I just misplaced it. It's got to be around here somewhere."

"You lost the heirloom of my household."

"I didn't lose it, I misplaced it." I paused and then turned around to glare up at Thorin. "You know what. You contributed in the whole Losing-The-Heirloom business just as much as I did. You get down here and help, your majesty!"

Thorin hesitated and then knelt on the ground next to me. He reached into a mound of red and blue gemstones and started shifting through them.

We went on like that for a good, long while. I honestly lost track of time. It was the two of us, digging through mounds of gold trying to find one small rock that glittered like the sun. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Even after searching for hours on end, we could not find the Arkenstone. Eventually, the two of us sat back on the stone pathway and gazed up at the massive, swooping hall and the crowded gold within.

"It's gone," I said.

"I know." Thorin sighed. "Where did it go?"

"It has to be around here somewhere. It's a frigging rock. It's not like it can just get up and walk away." I paused. "Or maybe…"

"It cannot walk away," said Thorin flatly.

"Don't ruin my hopes and dreams," I said.

Thorin rolled his eyes and leaned back, his thick arms supporting him so that he was sitting in a comfortable reclined position. "You lost the Arkenstone."

"You helped me lose it," I said. "_We_ lost the Arkenstone."

"Thorin! Thorin!"

Thorin and I turned to see who was shouting. Ori and Nori came running down the pathway—their eyes occasionally straying towards the massive piles of gold. They came to a halt when they saw Thorin and I sitting on the floor next to each other.

"Ana," said Ori, smiling. "When did you arrive here?"

I glanced at Thorin. He shook his head. It was the slightest movement and, if I wasn't expecting it, I would have missed it entirely.

"Just a couple minutes ago," I said, getting to my feet and stretching. "Thorin and I were just chilling."

"Have you found the Arkenstone?" asked Nori, his eyes bright with excitement.

"No," said Thorin. He pushed off the ground and got to his feet. "Have you?"

"Not a glimpse," said Nori.

"We will find it though," said Ori earnestly. "It has to be around here somewhere."

"Not necessarily," I said. "For all we know, Smaug ate it by accident and now your precious Arkenstone is sitting in his stomach for all eternity and the only way you're going to get it back is if he throws it up or takes a dump." I grinned. "It doesn't sound so precious now, does it?"

Ori an Nori paled while Thorin sighed.

"Do not listen to her," said Thorin. "Dragons do not _eat_ treasure, only hoard it."

"I said it was an accident. Like maybe some man from Laketown snuck in in an attempt to steal some gold. He found the Arkenstone and tried to take it with him, but Smaug caught him and ate him, not realizing the man was holding the Arkenstone." I paused. "But Smaug always seems to prefer burning his meals to a crisp before eating them."

"Um…" Ori and Nori exchanged nervous glances before turning to Thorin for help.

"Return to the others," said Thorin. "Ana and I will be follow."

I swear, Ori and Nori practically bolted out of there. I don't know why. Perhaps they have weak stomachs when it comes to dragon up chuck. I always thought it was a reasonable explanation—no one would expect Thorin and me of losing the Arkenstone then.

"We have to find it," said Thorin.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said. "It's in here _somewhere_."

"We could have everyone look for it," said Thorin. "It will speed up the process."

"Yeah," I said. "And tell them that we had the Arkenstone but then we fought over it and I slapped you and you dropped it and then we couldn't find it anymore. Now _that's_ embarrassing. Not so much for me as for you. I mean, people _expect_ that kind of behavior out of me—but _you_? What would they think if they heard that Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, lost his family's most treasured heirloom while in a slappy fight with me?"

Thorin gave me the death glare of a lifetime. The kind of death glare that meant that he was going to feed _me_ to the dragon.

"Fine," said Thorin. "We will not tell them that we found the Arkenstone. But we will come back in our own time and search for it."

"Of course," I said. "We cannot let such a precious jewel get away."

Thorin scoffed. "It is not yours.'

"It is if I find it first," I said. And then I sprinted after Ori and Nori as fast as my legs could carry me.

The other dwarves and Bilbo were in a side room, sorting through the mass amount of riches in there. Fili and Kili were arguing over a golden sword (Fili was using the "I'm the older brother" card). Oin and Gloin were trying to pick out what set of jewelry their mother would like best (you can imagine the "Your mother" jokes that went on in this conversation). Bilbo was inspecting a white shirt. Bombur had found an incredible large dinner set with plates that would hold Bombur-sized food portions. Bifur and Bofur were fawning over a set of rare, sparkling gemstones. Dori, Nori, and Ori were sitting next to identical piles of gold, discussing in undertones the possibility of having to dig through dragon dung. Dwalin was examining a silver and gold laced beard comb.

"Hey, ya'll," I said. "Find anything good?"

"Ana!" cried Bofur, jumping to his feet. "When did you get here?"

"A couple minutes ago," I said. "Thorin and I were just chilling."

Dori, Nori, and Ori eyed me suspiciously.

"What is this?" asked Bilbo.

We all turned to see him holding up with white shirt. On closer inspection, I realized that it was not a normal shirt, but a shirt of shimmer white mail. It a smooth and moved like normal fabric, none of the roughness of a the usually mail shirts I saw in Middle Earth. This one was special.

"Mithril," said Thorin.

He was standing in the doorway of the side chamber, staring at the white shirt with a faint smile on his lips. "It is a type of metal that the dwarves discovered. It is as soft and as light as a feather, and as hard as dragon scales. You will find no finer armor anywhere. It is yours, Bilbo."

"Mine?" Bilbo seemed terrified at the concept.

"It is a gift of gratitude," said Thorin. "For all your help. We would not have made it to the end without you."

Bilbo blinked and then looked down at the white armor. At first, it looked as though he might reject the gift, saying it was too majestic for someone like him. But then, Bilbo bowed his head and said, "Thank you."

"Man," I said. "Why does Bilbo get the cool gift? I helped you guys too."

"You provided important comedic relief," said Bofur, patting me on the shoulder.

"Comedians want to be loved too," I said, faking a sniffle.

Thorin sighed. "Do not throw a fit—I have something for you too."

"You do?"

I was actually surprised that he thought of picking something out for me and I didn't _really _need anything (besides the Arkenstone). But—hey—who am I to reject free stuff?

Thorin moved towards the piles of unsorted gold. He picked the smallest pile and plucked a long, golden necklace rom from the base of the pile. Then, he held it up for me to see.

"Thank you for the comedic relief," said Thorin (with as much sincerity as he could muster).

"You just picked that at random!" I cried.

"I do not know what you are talking about," said Thorin, smirking at me. "I chose this carefully just for you."

"I'm calling bullshit on you," I said, crossing my arms.

Thorin laughed and handed me the golden necklace. Begrudgingly, I took it. It was actually very pretty. A sort of golden locket with silver lines crisscrossing over the front. And when I opened the locket, rather than space for a picture, there was a small white gem.

"Jewelry isn't my thing," I said.

"Do not be ungrateful," said Thorin.

"I think it is very pretty," said Bofur hastily.

"Oh yes," said Ori, joining in. "It matches Ana very well. You are pretty and it is pretty. Together you are a pretty match."

I snorted and hung the necklace around my neck. "You guys are terrible."

"It looks nice," said Thorin.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"You need to work on your gratitude," said Bombur.

"I—"

"They are coming! They are coming!"

The Company and I stopped what we were doing and turned to see Balin standing in the doorway just behind Thorin. He seemed to be gasping and panting for breath.

"What is it?" asked Thorin.

"The thrush," said Balin.

"What thrush?" I asked.

"We told a thrush to tell the men of Laketown about Smaug's weakness," said Bilbo.

Balin nodded grimly. "While I was exploring the battlements, the thrush returned. He tried to speak to me, but I did not understand, so the thrush brought back a raven who spoke the common tongue." Balin paused to catch his breath. The company waited on their toes to hear what Balin had to say next. Finally, he took a breath and carried on. "The raven told me that Smaug had been destroyed. Bard of Laketown shot him down with a black arrow."

A cheer rose up amongst the dwarves.

"Erebor is ours!" cried Gloin.

The dwarves danced about, singing and shouting and celebrating. Their merriment was infectious and I found myself laughing along with them. That was, until, I saw Thorin's face. He jaw was set in his usual grim expression and he was staring at Balin, who was still trying to get his breath back.

"That is not all the news," said Thorin.

The other dwarves fell into silence and, finally, Balin could continue.

"Armies are forming," said Balin. "The men of Laketown plan to take Erebor and its riches for their own."

A terrified whisper spread through the dwarves.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "You said armies—plural."

"The elves of Mirkwood too," said Balin. "Have decided to claim Erebor for their own."

"We do not have enough hands to face down one army," said Dwalin. "Let alone two."

"We must call for reinforcements," said Thorin. "We must send word to Dain."

"We cannot share the treasure?" asked Bilbo. "Surely the men of Laketown deserve a share at least. They did slay the dragon."

"It is not theirs," said Thorin. "I am grateful to them for slaying Smaug, but this treasure is ours. It belonged to our ancestors. Our people were chased out of these halls centuries ago. They were forced to leave behind their wealth at the mercy of a dragon. Now, after so long, we are able to return home. We have reclaimed our home—no men, no elves, can take that from us."

The dwarves cheered. Thorin's words had given them strength, they were ready and willing to do whatever he asked. When Thorin demanded that a barricade be made to delay the armies, the dwarves sprang into action. They would defend their treasure to the very last man.

Bilbo and I stood still, watching with wary eyes.

* * *

**A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and I hope you had fun reading it. Please review!**


	71. First Church Of Saint Thorin Majestic

**LXXI: First Church Of Saint Thorin The Majestic**

I'll spare you all the painful details of the barricade building. It took a couple days before the entrance to Erebor was completely blocked off. Rocks, dirt, furniture—anything the dwarves could find that would serve in a barricade went into the wall. We finished the night before the armies arrived. Thorin spent all night preparing the theatrics. I'm not kidding. Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin perched up on the wall and paced back and forth, figuring out the most frightening place for Thorin to stand, which place had the best acoustics, where was the safest place to stand—out of range of arrows. All night, they talked and debated, while the rest of us tried (and failed) to get a good night's rest.

The armies arrived the next morning. We all went onto the wall with the barricaded doorway right below us. The armies—the elvenking's army and the Laketown army—stood on the doorstep of Erebor, glowering up at Thorin. I remember well. They _hated_ us. They would happily run us through with their arrows and swords if it meant they could get their hands on the gold in Erebor. I shuddered. Bilbo's talk of surrendering some of the gold was starting to make sense.

"Hey, Thorin…"

"Ana," said Thorin. "If you say one cowardly thing about handing over some money to save your own skin, I will hand you over instead."

I scratched the back of my head and grinned. "You know me too well."

I moved to the other side of the wall where Fili and Kili were peering over the stone battlements at the armies below.

"Am I the only one who really does _not_ want to fight?" I asked, leaning against the wall next to them.

"It is not that we _want_ to fight," said Fili. "It is that we would rather fight than leave our home."

"They're not asking you to leave your home," I said. "They're just asking for some money."

"That money is part of our home," said Kili. "Why should we give it to some elves who imprisoned us?"

"Okay, okay," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "I get why you don't want to give it to the elves. They're like—you escaped from our prisons and you owe us bail. Now pay up. Stupidest excuse I've ever seen. But the men of Laketown actually killed Smaug for you and their town is in flaming ruins because of Smaug. You should at least give them enough money for repairs. Then you'll only have one army to deal with instead of two."

Fili shook his head. "It is not our decision."

I groaned and threw my hands up into the air. "Thorin! That idiot! Do I have to beat him over the head with a baseball bat to knock some common sense into him?"

"What is a baseball bat?" asked Kili.

"Never mind."

I was about to actually beat Thorin over the head with some baseball-bat-like weapon, but before I could figure out a suitable substitute, Thorin decided the time had come to address the two armies.

"Who are you," said Thorin in his loud, majestic voice. "That you come before the door of the King Under the Mountain in arms? What do you desire?"

A heavy silence followed Thorin's words. I moved to the wall to stand next to Bilbo. The two of us peered over the wall, watching the men and elves titter amongst themselves. Finally, one man stepped forward. He was tall with dark hair and grim face. He regarded the barricade for a moment and then looked up at the proud Thorin who stood above the entrance way, holding the key to the masses of treasure within.

I squinted at the tall man. I couldn't see very well from a distance, but he _looked_ familiar.

"Hail, Thorin, King Under the Mountain!" said the man. "We come in a peaceful manner, and yet you choose to lock yourself away within the mountain. Surely you wish to join our festivities. You may fest and celebrate with us that the great dragon, Smaug is dead!"

Thorin did not say anything. He didn't have to. I suddenly remembered the voice and I leaned forward, a wild grin across my face.

"Bard!" I shouted. "Bard the Brat!"

The man paused and turned his head to look at me. He frowned. "Aunt Ana?"

"Man," I said. "What you doing all the way down there?"

For a second, bard seemed confused, but then a grin spread across his face. "Of course, I would find you here amongst the dwarves, Aunt Ana."

"They're my people,' I said.

Thorin scoffed. "You are human. Do not disgrace the name of dwarf by including yourself as one of us."

"Please," I said. "You secretly wish I was a dwarf."

"We came to Erebor not expecting anyone to be here," said Bard. "We thought Erebor to be abandoned after the death of Smaug."

"Nicely done," I said. "Though it sucks that my arch nemesis was killed by someone else."

"Smaug was your arch nemesis?" asked Bard.

"It was a long relationship," I said, sighing dramatically.

Thorin sighed. "Ana, behave."

"Always," I said.

We turned our attention back to bard, who seemed much more confident after chatting with me for a bit. He smiled up at us and said, "As you know, I am Bard and it was by my hand that the dragon, Smaug was slain and your treasure delivered. I am a descendant of Girion—"

"That crazy man!?" I cried, slamming my hands on the stone of the wall. "He tried to sacrifice me to the frigging dragon!"

"When did this happen?" asked Dori.

"I Skipped back there a while ago and they all thought I was a witch who was in league with the dragon. And then Smaug tried to burn me to a crisp and they realized it was a lie."

"Well, yes," said Bard awkwardly. "I apologize for my ancestor's behavior…"

"Don't be a brat, Bard," I said, waggling my index finger at him.

"But you must understand that the men of Laketown—the descendants of the men of Dale, a city that your grandfather was on good terms with—have lost much in the fight against Smaug. The damages we have suffered are almost irredeemable. We ask only that you give us enough gold to prepare the damages caused by Smaug. We aided you in your time of need, we ask only that courtesy."

The dwarves muttered amongst themselves, but Thorin needed no consultation to know how to answer.

"You speak well," said Thorin. "But you put your reasoning is flawed. The treasure inside these halls belongs to know man. It was made by dwarves for the sake of dwarves and we place it above all else. Smaug stole from us not only our gold, but also our home. We have reclaimed our home and will allow nothing to be taken from us again. We shall repay in due time—but if you seek to use force, we will shut you out entirely and not a glitter of gold shall you see from us. What comes to my mind is the question—what would you have done if you had reached the mountain and found the hoard unguarded and us slain? I doubt you would have taken _just enough_ to prepare the damages."

I sighed. "Bard, you suck at negotiating."

"Aunt Ana," said Bard. He voice seemed almost helpless. "Help us."

"Don't look to me to persuade him," I said, lifting my hands in the air as all the dwarves turned to regard me suspiciously. "Majestic does and majestic wants. The most I can do is talk him to death."

Thorin raised his eyebrows in my direction.

I laughed. "I love you all too much to do that…on purpose."

Thorin rolled his eyes and turned back to the armies at his gate. "I will not negotiate with armed men and _never_ with elves. Come back with fewer weapons and fewer friends and then we will discuss."

"We will not shed our friends for your sake, Thorin Oakenshield," said Bard. "We stand here without thought of violence. But we will retreat for today and give you time to consider a wiser course."

As he returned to his army's side, I leaned forward and shouted, "See you soon, Bard the Brat!" By some miracle, he managed to ignore me and return to his people with dignity. The armies turned and headed back to their camps, leaving the front door of Erebor momentarily unoccupied.

We headed back down to the halls of Erebor and found an empty room with a long wooden table at which to sit and discuss the events of that day while Bombur made us meat and potato soup for dinner. As expected, Thorin sat at the head of the table with Balin on his right and Bilbo on his left. I sat at the opposite end of the table (positioned strategically at the place facing Thorin so I could make faces at him during the meeting). Fili and Kili sat on my left and Bofur to my right.

"I should have shot him with an arrow," muttered Thorin.

"Don't harm my poor nephew!" I cried.

Thorin muttered something under his breath. "In case you failed to notice, I did not harm him. And he is not your nephews."

I sighed and placed a hand on my chest. "He is in my heart."

Thorin stared at me for a long moment, then he turned to Balin and said, loudly, "A message has been sent to Dain, correct?"

Balin nodded. "He shall arrive soon. Hopefully before the armies decide to march on us again."

"We will withstand them if that does happen," said Thorin. "Our barricade should hold and there is no other way in. Erebor was built to keep enemies out."

"It did not work for the dragon," said Dwalin.

"The dragon is not the men of Laketown," said Thorin. "There are things dragons are capable of that even the men who defeat them cannot do."

"You know," I said. "I think we're looking at this all the wrong way."

Reluctantly, all eyes turn to me.

"We're seeing the men of Laketown as enemies, why not see them as potential converts."

"Coverts?" asked Bombur. He waddled in through the door and started placing bowls of soup and spoon in front of the members of the Company (of course, Thorin was served first).

"The reason why the men of Laketown are so antagonistic against us is because they do not understand us. It is a fear of the unknown. I think we should welcome them with open arms, let them get to know us and what we're all about. They'll come to understand us and join us. We will convert them."

"Convert them to what?" asked Fili.

"I do not like where this is going," said Oin.

"To the First Saint Thorin the Majestic and the Anti-Dragon Company Full Missionary Dwarven Church of the Erebor Fellowship Cathedral," I said.

Silence filled the room, less because the dwarves were actually surprised by my proposal, but more because they were trying to sound out the name of the First Saint Thorin the Majestic and the Anti-Dragon Company Full Missionary Dwarven Church of the Erebor Fellowship Cathedral.

"There was mention of dwarves in the name," said Gloin.

Oin nodded. "And something relating to the Company and dragons."

"Since when has Thorin been a Saint?" asked Bilbo.

"Never mind the name," I said, waving away their comments. "We can call it the First Church of Saint Thorin the Majestic for short. New member initiation requires potential members to say the full name of the church correctly. Anyway, the point is that we need to convert the men of Laketown to the cult of Thorin's majesty. Once they start worshipping his majesty, they will no longer try to take his gold, but will even kneel down before him and try to give him _their_ gold. The whole point of our religion is that no one can fight the allure of Thorin's majesty. We can be door-to-door missionaries—Hello, my name is Sister Ana and this is Brother Fili. We are here to tell you and your neighbors about the light of Thorin's majesty. Here are some leaflets that discuss the importance of majesty in all our lives and we have lectures in the town hall three times a week—and on Sundays, the lectures are given by Majestic Thorin himself."

"Did you really just create the First Saint Thorin the Majestic and Anti-Dragon Company Full Missionary Dwarven Church of the Erebor Fellowship Cathedral?" asked Thorin.

"Did you really just remember the full name of that ridiculous church?" asked Fili.

"It's the majesty at work, I'm telling you," I said.

* * *

The rest of the meeting was spent discussing how important it was that the dwarves not hand over their treasures to the men of Laketown and the elves of Mirkwood. Then, after much drinking and arguing, the dwarves went to sleep while Thorin and I began our search for the Arkenstone. The days in Erebor pretty much went like that. Wake up. Eat breakfast. Complain about elves and men and elves. Sort through treasure. Reinforce barricade. Eat lunch. Look through more treasure. Discuss how much we hate elves and men and elves. Eat dinner. Drink. Go to sleep. Thorin and Ana look for the lost Arkenstone. The days passed slowly for all their repetition. With each passing day, the dread that Dain would not arrive and the two armies, despite all of Thorin's confidence, would storm Erebor, leave us for dead, and take all the treasure we had earned.

The night before the return of Bard the Brat and the two armies, Thorin and I were still searching for the Arkenstone. We must have ripped apart halt the hall by that point and still there was no sign of the stupid stone.

"I still think it sprouted legs and ran away," I said, tossing a bronze chalice over my shoulder.

Thorin grunted majestically in response.

"It _is_ a magic rock, after all," I said. "You just can't trust those magic rocks."

"Do magic rocks terrify you so much?" asked Thorin.

"When you're the Skipper—all rocks terrify you. Magic rocks just that much more."

"But you are not a rock," said Thorin.

"No," I said. "But that rock has something to do with me." I tossed a red gemstone over my shoulder. "I'm the equivalent of a magic rock."

"There are worse things to be the equivalent of."

"Elves," I said.

Thorin nodded grimly.

I laughed and grabbed a bowl full of coins. "At least I know that no matter what happens, I will always have you to understand me." I tossed the Arkenstone-free bowl behind me and it made a loud clattering sound.

"Unfortunately," said Thorin. "It is my curse."

I laughed. "Hey, Thorin."

"What is it now?"

"I love you."

Thorin tossed a gold plate with a silver tree over his shoulder and turned to look at me. "You are speaking without thinking again."

"No, I mean it. I love you. You're like the best friend anyone could ever have. Actually, you're like more than a friend, because Bonnie and Nick sure don't understand me as well as you do. So maybe you're like some weird long lost brother of mine. Except I'm not a dwarf. Though my dad's from Bree—so maybe we have some weird relation. You can be my long lost cousin."

Thorin turned back to the pile of gold in front of him and began rummaging through a chest of gold, just in case the Arkenstone fell inside. "We are not related."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"How do I know anything?" countered Thorin.

"Because you're smart."

"No."

"You're not smart?" I had stopped shifting through the piles of gold. My eyes were transfixed on Thorin's quiet face. He wasn't looking at me, but he wasn't working either. He kept turning a golden chain over and over again in his hands.

"No. That is not the reason I know we are not related."

"How do you know that we're not related?"

"I know we are not related the same way I know that I am going to die."

My heart missed a beat. "What?"

Thorin stopped toying with the chain and finally met my gaze. "The same way I know that you're going to tell me that is not possible, that you will not let me die. The same way I know that you are going to try and save me even though I am going to tell you that you have to let me go. The same way that you are going to know that no matter what you do, I am going to die."

"How do you know you're going to die?" I asked.

"We all die," said Thorin.

I reached up and caught hold of the necklace Thorin had given me. My finger brushed over the silver lines that reminded me of tree roots the more I looked at them. I took a deep breath. "I am not going to let you die."

"I know you are not. But you have to."

"I won't."

"Saint Thorin the Majestic commands you."

"Not going to work."

"I thought it was worth a try." Thorin sighed and tossed the gold chain into a pile with the rest of the discarded things. "When have I ever managed to convince you of anything?"

"No idea. I never realized I was that stubborn."

"You are stubborn until someone threatens your life."

"Who's stubborn in that situation?"

"Me."

"Point taken. That either makes you really brave or really stupid."

"Or really majestic."

I laughed. "You're on a roll tonight."

Thorin smiled (may I remind you how rare it is to see Thorin smile and every single time he does smile should be photographed and kept forever). It was a forlorn smile, though, tinged with sadness.

"What's up?" I asked.

"The ceiling," said Thorin.

I groaned and chucked and gold coin at him. He caught it and threw it over his shoulder.

"I _mean_ what is going on in that thick head of yours?"

"Tomorrow," said Thorin.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "What? Are you having doubts about your stubbornness?"

"No." Thorin frowned. "Yes."

A couple of waddle-steps and I covered the distance between Thorin and me. I reached out a hand and patted the top of his head. "Whatever you do—no matter how stupid I think it is—I'll stand by you. And so will the Company. We have faith in you. No matter how stupid that makes us. Because we love you. And that is the stupidest thing of all." I stopped patting his head and just left my hand sitting on top of his black hair.

Thorin reached up and pushed my hand off of his head. "You are stupid."

"Thanks."

Thorin stared at my hand. I wriggled my fingers and his blue eyes lifted to my face. I smiled.

"I'm not going to let you die."

"I know."

"And we're not going to find the Arkenstone," I said.

"I know."

"So why do we keep looking for it?"

"I do not know."

A huge grin burst from inside my and spread across my face like wild fire. "We're stupid."

"I know."

And Thorin was smiling too. And laughing. Or maybe it was me doing the laughing. Or maybe it was both of us. I don't remember. What I do remember was that we spent the night amongst piles of gold and silver, using golden cloth as blankets and pillows and we dreamed of a place where we were not disturbed.

* * *

The next morning we stood on top of the wall again, staring down at the two armies ready to either a) receive payment or b) kill us. The elves looked prepared for war. Their bows were knocked with arrows and their eyes were bright with vengeance. We had escaped their prisons and insulted their king. They were ready to screw negotiations and storm Erebor as is. The men of Laketown, however, were less ready to fight. Their weapons were not drawn and their seemed tense, their horses shifting from side to side.

And all the way, up on the wall, the dwarves were uneasy. Fili and Kili refused to leave each other's sides. Balin kept talking to Thorin in undertones, while Dwalin continually sharpened his axes. Oin and Gloin kept making "your mother" jokes, but not with the same vigor that they usually did. Bombur was eating nonstop to calm his nerves while Bofur kept trying to comfort the nervous Bifur. Dori, Nori, and Ori were trying to stand up right and proud, but that didn't stop their knees from knocking.

Bilbo stood next to me. He seemed calmer than the dwarves. His hands tucked neatly into his pockets, overlooking the crowds of men and elves with a rather neutral expression.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yes," said Bilbo. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I said. "Worst comes to worst, chances are I'll just Skip away. Though I don't fancy getting in the middle of a battle. Thorin can't die."

Bilbo glanced at me curiously. "What happened?"

"I had a dream," I said. "That pink elephants were about to stomp on Thorin and squish him flat. And Thorin cried to me for help, but I couldn't help him because the Great Pink Elephant in the Sky had me in her trunk and refused to let me go. So the Great Pink Elephant in the Sky's minions stepped on Thorin and turned him into a Thorin pancake and I cried and cried and cried while the Great Pink Elephant in the Sky laughed and said she was going to write a book about it. And then I woke up."

Bilbo blinked. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "That is nice."

"Tragic," I said.

"That is what I meant," said Bilbo. "That is tragic."

I faked a sniffle. "I couldn't sleep all night and when I asked Thorin to comfort me. He kicked me out of his room and told me to go sleep in the dungeons." I wiped a tear from my eye. "He's so mean!"

Bilbo patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. "Thorin can be cruel some times."

"It's the side effects of the burden of his majesty," I said.

"Of course," said Bilbo.

I smiled down at him. "I'm so glad you joined the majestic bandwagon."

"I—"

"Hail, Thorin Oakenshield!"

I groaned and turned to look out at the front doorstep. Bard had ridden forward again and stood before the great stone doors. He gazed up at the dwarves on the wall, his eyes filled with determination.

"Greetings, Bard of Laketown," said Thorin flatly.

"Are of the same mind?" asked Bard.

"I will not change my mind simply because a few days have come and gone," said Thorin. "You still bring elves with you despite my condition. You have chosen not to talk, not me."

I sighed and placed my elbows on the stone wall, propped my head up in my palms. "He's so stubborn."

"Does he want a war so badly?" asked Bilbo.

"He does what he must."

Bard's eyes narrowed and, with perfectly even tones, he said, "Is there nothing for which you will part with you gold?"

"You have nothing I desire," said Thorin.

"What about the Arkenstone of Thrain?" And Bard lifted the glitter stone into the air.

Thorin choked on his next words. I spun around. The dwarves were all flabbergasted, their mouths open and their eyes practically popping out of their heads. My eyes met Thorin's and his lips moved soundlessly. I shook my head. He turned to address Bard again.

"That stone was my grandfather's and then my father's and now it is mine. Why should I buy what is already mine?"

"I remember hearing a certain expression," said Bard, thoughtfully. "What was it? Oh yes. Finders keepers."

Slowly, every single one of the dwarves spun around to stare at me, accusation flaming in their eyes. I lifted my hands into the air, figuratively raising the white flag.

"It wasn't me," I said.

"You are the only one who says such things," said Oin.

"He is your nephew," said Gloin.

"I'm seriously offended that you'd consider me guilty," I said.

"She is right," said Balin. "Bard only seeks to sow discord amongst our ranks. We should not doubt our own."

"Ana is not capable of being so stealthy anyway," said Kili.

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Ana lost the Arkenstone," said Thorin. "She did not give it away."

The dwarves all turned to stare at Thorin. I shook my head from side to side, violently, trying to get him to stop talking, but Thorin ignored me.

"Ana found the Arkenstone and we argued over it." Thorin sighed. "And then I dropped it and we lost the Arkenstone. We spent the last seven nights searching for it."

I groaned. "My reputation as a klutz is sealed."

"It was sealed long ago, Ana," said Fili.

"You _dropped_ the Arkenstone?" asked Kili, practically trembling with shock.

"Is that not offensive to our ancestors?" asked Dori.

Silence fell among us and we shifted uncomfortable at the thought of an angry Thrain watching over us.

"The question is," said Balin. "If Thorin and Ana dropped the Arkenstone—where did it go?"

"I knew it!" I cried. "The damned thing sprouted legs and ran to Laketown to betray us! Those stupid magic rocks!"

"That is not what happened," said Thorin.

"_I _gave it to them."

The voice was quiet, but firm. Assured in his actions, but hesitant to admit them. We spun around to see little Bilbo Baggins standing by the stone wall, his brown eyes bright with defiance.

"You _what_?" said Dwalin.

"I gave it to them," said Bilbo.

I wasn't sure if I should applaud him or punch him or something in the middle. Perhaps I could slap him and then hug him. That might work.

"You! You! _You_!" Thorin seemed to be at a loss for any other word. "You! You miserable hobbit! Curse Gandalf for ever bringing us to your doorstep! Curse you! Curse the wizard! I will cast you down onto the rocks so that you may join your people—the men and the _elves_!"

Thorin seriously meant to throw Bilbo down on the rocks. He grabbed Bilbo by the collar and was about to hurl the pale, shouting hobbit over the wall when I leapt forward and grabbed hold of Thorin's sleeve, trying with all my strength to drag the dwarf backwards.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" I cried. "You're going to regret this! Thorin! Stop!"

Thorin dropped Bilbo and turned to me. "I wish Gandalf were here so I could break him too!"

"Don't be _stupid_!" I screamed.

"Your wish is granted."

And there Gandalf stood on top of the battlements. I do not know where he came from or how he got there, but all I can say is—damn was I glad to see him.

"You!" cried Thorin, dropping me and rounding on Gandalf. "You are all in the same league! Never again shall I have dealings with wizards and their pets!"

I got to my feet and brushed off some dirt. The dwarves were all standing stock still, unsure if they should help Thorin or help Bilbo. Bilbo himself seemed very flustered by the while situation. Gandalf was smiling at Thorin, completely undisturbed by the death threats Thorin was throwing his way.

I sighed, stepped forward, and grabbed Thorin by the wrist.

"Let me go!" roared Thorin, spinning around to face me.

I slapped him.

"Ow!" I hopped up and down, waving my hand about. "Why do you have such a hard face?"

Thorin reached up and touched his left cheek, which was inflamed and red. "You are actually yelling at me?"

"Work on making your face softer!" I cried. "Use Dove products or something!"

"Why did you hit me?" asked Thorin.

"Because you needed to calm down and listen," I said.

"To what?"

"To me," said Bilbo, stepping forward. "When I signed on to this adventure, you said that I was entitled to one-fourteenth of the gold. But perhaps I took this too literally. I have heard that dwarves are politer in word than in deed. Anyway, the night we entered Erebor and examined the piles of gold, I decided to explore the main hall. I heard two people arguing and decide to see what I could do to help. As I was walking along the stone path, a glitter gem came bouncing along. The Arkenstone. I took the Arkenstone to be my one-fourteenth. I did with my one-fourteenth as I so chose and there is nothing more to be said on the matter."

Thorin was still holding onto my shoulders. His gaze grew darker and darker and his grip was tightening to the point of being painful. I reached up and touched his hands, trying to pry them off me. Thorin glanced at me and then, only just realizing what he was doing, released me. Then, he turned back to Bilbo.

"I have been betrayed," he said. "Get out of here. Get out and do not let me look upon your face again." Then, Thorin moved toward the wall and addressed Bard. "I will divide one-fourteenth of the treasure for that is the traitor's share of the gold and silver. I shall give that to you and you shall return the Arkenstone. The one-fourteenth may be divided amongst yourselves."

Bard did not have a chance to reply as Thorin turned back to Bilbo. "Get out of my home. Join your friends begging at my doorstep and do not plague my halls again."

Gandalf sighed. "Thorin, you are not making a good example as King Under the Mountain. The gold and silver has already caught hold of your mind. But perhaps you may change. Not all hope is lost just yet."

"Be gone."

We—the Company and I—watched as Gandalf and Bilbo descended to join the armies of men and elves. None of the dwarves dared to speak out against Thorin—they respected him far too much for that. I did not. I reached out and caught hold of his hand. Thorin turned to me and I saw the sharp regret in his blue eyes before it was quickly masked by anger and hatred. I smiled at him.

"You're losing majestic points," I said.

"I do not care," said Thorin. "He is a traitor."

"Yes, you do," I said. "Why do you keep doing this? You don't like it. So why are you doing it?"

"Because I have to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

"You're stupid."

"I know."

I took a deep breath. "Whatever. I told you. No matter how stupid you are, I'm still on your side."

"Regrettable decision."

"We'll see."

And that's right about when the trumpets of Dain Ironfoot sounded. We turned to the hills and saw the dwarven army prepared for battle and waiting for Thorin's signal. Dain, short and stout, stood at the front, his dark eyes fixed on Erebor.

I glanced up at Thorin and saw that a twisted smile had crossed his face.

"At last," breathed Thorin. "I will not give a coin of this treasure to men and elves."

I sighed. "You just don't give up, do you?"

"Never."

* * *

**A/N: I think this might be the longest chapter yet. Oh well. The amount of Thorna fluff in this is overwhelming. Sorry. **

**Also, you guys have gotten lazy in reviewing. Shame. Shame. Shame. The more motivated I get in writing, the lazier you guys are. Tut-tut. Disappointing.**

**Please review!**


	72. Fluctuating Thorin Levels

**LXXII: Fluctuating Thorin Levels**

I have never seen such a short army in my life. Dain Ironfoot was beyond a doubt a dwarf and the people he led were beyond a doubt dwarves. The army had an average height of 4"9 and was stubborn and stout to boot. They were all armed to the teeth with thick armor and long, decorated beards. Their presence alone was enough to spring the elves and men into action. The elves grasped their bows, preparing to fire and the men drew their swords, ready for the charge. Thorin began shouting commands from the wall as the members of the Company sprang into action, grabbing weapons and scurrying about.

"Can I go hide in a corner until the battle's over?" I asked, raising one hand into the air.

"I figured you would ask that," said Thorin.

"Oh, so now my cowardice is expected?"

"I would be more surprised if you asked to fight."

"Yeah…Never going to happen."

"I never thought it would happen."

"Though I've gotten better with the Sword Breaker."

Thorin snorted. "That little thing will do you not good in battle."

"Excuse me—I will have you know that I have participated in the Battle of Helmsdeep _and _the Battle of Pelennor Fields. I've participated in more battles than you."

"I participated in the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs," said Thorin.

"Also, I would be my share of the gold that you ran away and hid for most of the battles you participated in," said Dwalin.

I sighed. "Man. Don't go ruining my swag like that."

"Swag?"

"Exactly."

Thorin shook his head. "You should Skip before the battle begins."

"Great," I said. "I'll just jump of the battlements and hopefully I'll Skip before I end up smushed all over the rocky ground."

"A pleasant image," said Thorin.

"Hey!"

He managed some kind of demented half smile. "Go help the others. Balin and I have some business to attend to before the battle begins."

"I'll go suit up!" I cried, sprinting towards the stairs.

Thorin stared at me in confusion.

"Suit up…" I said slowly. "Because I'll put on a suit of armor. Barney Stinson? How I Met Your Mother?"

His face remained blank.

"Urg!" I threw my hands into the air in exasperation. "Why do I hang out with such uncultured people!?"

I bounded down the stone steps that led from the top of the wall to the front hall, leaving Thorin and Balin far behind me. Oin, Dori, and Dwalin were down in the hall, reinforcing the barricade on the front doors, adding some wooden shafts to support the top. I screeched to a halt on the smooth stone ground.

"Hey guys!" I cried. "Guess what! I measured the Thorin Levels of each dwarf's beard! Don't you want to hear? A Thorin Level measures how close to majesty a dwarf's beard is! Thorin, being perfect majesty, has a Thorin Level of One hundred percent. Well, after some deep thought, I decided that Oin's beard has an eighty-two percent Thorin Level. Gloin's beard has an eighty-three percent Thorin level. Ori's gimpy little beard has a twenty-four percent Thorin Level. Dori's beard has a fair sixty-seven percent Thorin Level. Nori's beard has an ninety-seven percent Thorin Level—I mean, his beard is firigging star! Balin's beard has a ninety-one percent Thorin Level—that thing is a blanket. Bifur's beard has a ninety percent Thorin Level—my new winter coat. Bofur, my lovely Bofur, his beard only has an eleven percent Thorin Level. Sorry, Bofur, moustaches don't count. Bombur's braid of beard has a seventy-seven percent Thorin Level and Fili's beard has a seventy-eight percent Thorin Level—mainly because Fili is awesome. And, of course, Dwalin has a ninety-nine-point-nine percent Thorin Level. Oh. And Kili has a negative one hundred percent Thorin Level—that hairless rat."

I finished my rant and waited eagerly got Dwalin to respond.

"A little higher," said Thorin, pointing up. Dori and Oin moved the end of the shaft a little higher on the wall. "Good."

"You missed a spot," I said.

"Where?" asked Oin, examining the wall nervously

Dori glanced at me. "Do you know the first thing about fortifications?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Not a thing."

Dwalin and Oin glowered at me, while Dori sighed patiently. "Ana, you do realize we are on the verge of a three way battle? Now is not the best time for you to supply comedic relief."

My smile faltered a little before disappearing altogether. I shoved my hands into my jean pockets and shifted from side to side awkward. "I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"And we appreciate it," said Dori. "Usually. Just not at this moment."

"You can go _help_ Gloin," supplied Oin.

I stuck out my lower lip and put on my best sulky expression. "Fine. But that's the last time I ever compliment your beards. Minus twenty percent Thorin Level for all of you!"

I went to find Gloin who, along with Nori, Bifur, and Bofur, was shifting through the piles of treasure, searching for suitable weapons to fight with. They had a couple crossbows, a couple long bows, several axes and swords.

"Hey!" I cried, sneaking up behind Bofur.

"Ana!" he said, turning around and throwing me a huge, lovely smile (plus ten percent Thorin Level). "How are you? Have you come to help us?"

"I'll do whatever you need me to do," I said.

"Weapons," said Gloin. "We need weapons."

I strode over to the nearest pile and picked up a dagger. The hilt of the dagger was made of gold and encrusted with white diamonds while the blade was made of pure silver.

"This is a weapon," I said.

They all turned to look at me and then at the dagger.

"We want inexpensive weapons," said Nori. "Otherwise we might as well be throwing their one-fourteenth of the treasure at them."

I pause to consider this. "That might not be a bad idea."

"No," said Gloin.

I sighed and tossed the dagger over my shoulder. It clanged heavily as it landed on another pile, making a god-awful noise—and I'm pretty sure I chipped one of those precious diamonds. I cringed at the noise and glanced at the dwarves. They were hard at work, though they kept shooting me dirty looks.

I was actually productive for a good five minutes. I think that was a record. I didn't find any cheap weapons, but I did get through a whole pile. Gloin found another long bow and Bifur found two more axes. Bofur uncovered three more decorative knives, which he placed to the side. I think Nori might have found some nice looking daggers too, but I'm pretty certain he nicked them. We worked in silence, slowly building up our weapon stock—and then I found the chain.

It was a long chain, when I put it on, the flat gold-and-onyx plate that hung at the end of the chain came down to my knees. I fingered the golden chain for a while and then turned to the dwarves.

"What is this? Is this some kind of crazy dwarven version of bling?"

Gloin grunted and continued his work, but Nori stopped what he was doing and started at me in bemusement.

"What is 'bling'?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"Bling," I said. "Bling, bling. Rappers wear these ling chains with random stuff on the end and call them bling because they make this flashy sound…"

Nori stared.

"What are 'rappers'?" asked Bofur.

"It's like music," I said. "Except they talk really fast…and on beat."

"Is that not talking?" asked Nori.

"No," I said. "Because there's music in the background."

"So it is talking to music," said Bofur slowly.

"Yeah!"

Nori and Bofur exchanged puzzled looks. Finally, they turned back to me and Nori said, "You culture sounds like a series of contradictions. You should fix that problem."

"I'll get right on it," I said. "First I have to stop disappearing every two seconds. Second, I have to actually finish college. Third, I have to switch my major from Art History to Political Science. Fourth, I'd have to get a job in politics. Fifth, I'd have to climb a very long ladder. Sixth, I'd have to win the biggest popularity poll of all. Seventh, I'd have to make good decisions as the President of the United States." I smiled. "Pretty easy, right?"

"You can certainly do it," said Bofur earnestly.

"Aw," I said. "You're so lovely. I just want to hug you and hold you and love you."

"Ana," said Gloin. He was holding a big axe as he rounded on me, his eyes flashing.

"Yes?" I said meekly.

"Why do you not stop bothering us and go pester someone else? Fili and Kili should not be too busy right now."

I would have stayed. I really would have, but the look in Gloin's eyes and the sharp axe in his hands caused me to turn around and flee as fast as I possibly could in the opposite direction. You might call it cowardice, but I call it smart thinking.

Fili and Kili were trying to find more things to fortify the wall with. They had found some fallen rubble that had probably been knocked lose when Smaug went on rampage. They were grabbing chucks of rock and hoisting them into an old, rickety cart, which they would eventually wheel to the wall for Dwalin, Oin, and Dori to use.

"Hey, ya'll!"

Fili and Kili looked up at the sight of me. Fili smiled, but Kili frowned slightly.

"Why do I have negative one-hundred percent Thorin Level?" he asked.

"it's not that _you_ have negative one-hundred percent Thorin Level," I explained. "Your beard does. Which makes sense because your beard is _nonexistent_."

Fili snickered. "I have a healthy seventy-eight percent Thorin Level."

"That's pretty good for a young dwarf," I said, smiling. "Give it a few years and you'll have a nice, healthy ninety-nine percent Thorin level beard like Uncle Dwalin." I paused. "Though I did subtract points from him, so his beard has more like seventy-nine percent Thorin Level. Strive to be like your Uncle Balin. His beard is pretty darn nice _and_ his Thorin Level doesn't fluctuate."

"When we were little," said Fili. "Kili and I planned to cut off Balin's beard and make blankets out of it."

"You could sell those wooly things and make a fortune," I said.

"We are still not addressing the problem of my negative one-hundred percent," said Kili.

"It's not a problem," I said. "It's a fact."

Fili laughed, but didn't respond. Instead, he picked up another massive granite rock and placed it in the cart. He wiped some sweat off his forehead and smiled at me. "Would you like to help? We have to get this done quickly and the more the merrier."

"Alright!" I said. "Ana the Anawesome is here to help!"

I moved towards the smallest rock—about the side of my head—and moved to pick it up. It didn't budge and inch. I tried again. My arm strained. My legs ached. My back was breaking in sharp agony. I managed to lift the rock a good couple inches off the ground—and then I dropped it.

"OhmyGod!" I cried. "What the hell is in that thing!?"

Fili and Kili glanced at me and then at each other and then back to me.

"Stone," said Kili.

"What kind of stone?" I asked.

"The usual kind of stone."

I eyed the rock. "That ain't no normal stone. The rock is a lie."

Kili bent over and picked up my rock and plopped it into the cart with easy. He dusted off his hands and grinned at me. "It seems like a normal rock to me."

"That is sort of pitiful," said Fili. "_Kili_ is more capable than you Ana."

You know that dramatic music people play when characters in movies find out something shocking? You know, the dundundunnnnnn sound? No? Well, anyway, that sound should have been playing after Filis words. My jaw dropped to somewhere around floor level and I gasped. "Blasphemy!"

"Who picked up the rock?" asked Kili smugly.

I ran away in my shame. But not before I managed to shout, "Minus fifty percent Thorin Level! Kili! You're at negative one-hundred-and-fifty percent Thorin Level and it's not going up any time soon!"

I went to the only place that I was still welcome—the kitchen. Bombur and Ori were making meals for the Company to eat before the battle began. As Bombur liked to say, "No one should fight on an empty stomach." And—hey—who was I to argue with Bombur Logic?

Smiling at the scent of cooked meat, I settled down at the wooden table and watched Bombur and Ori bustling in the kitchen to make a filling meal as quickly as possible.

"Do not just sit there," said Bombur, in a particularly foul mood. "Help! We only have so much time and so little to do!"

"What can I do?" I asked, jumping to my feet and moving to the kitchen.

"Salt and pepper," said Bombur. "Do not add too much."

I took a canister of salt and the canister of pepper and stared into the depths of the dark, rich soup. Bombur's cooking was legendary. No wonder he was so fat—anyone would gain weight when they can make such scrumptious food for himself.

"So where's Bilbo?" I asked, tipping a little salt into the soup.

"He is with Gandalf," said Ori. "I do not know where they are, but I hope they are safe. I would not wish them to get caught in the middle of this war."

"Gandalf will keep him safe," said Bombur.

I tipped a little bit more salt. Not too much. Careful.

"I wouldn't trust Gandalf," I said. "He likes to have people pushed off cliffs to test their Skipping abilities."

Bombur and Ori gave me odd looks.

"I do not remember this happening," said Bombur.

"That's because it happens years in the future," I said, tipping a bit more salt.

"Oh," said Bombur.

"So how do you think this war will go down?" I asked. "Elves and men or dwarves?" Tip the salt.

"I have to answer dwarven army," said Bombur. "To not would be a betrayal of Thorin."

I nodded. "True. But whether you believe we will win or not, you will stand by Thorin, correct?"

Bombur and Ori regarded me for a second. Then, in unison, they nodded.

"To the grave," said Bombur.

"To the end," said Ori.

"Ana," said Bombur.

"Me too," I said. "I'll follow the idiot to the end of all things."

"Ana, you are pouring pounds of salt into my soup."

"What?" I looked down and saw that almost the entire canister of salt was empty and the soul had become almost half salt. I screamed and dropped the canister of salt, jumping away from the pot. "It wasn't me!"

Bombur gave me a skeptical look. (That man is _serious_ about his food.)

"I—"

"They have arrived! They have arrived! Quick! Quick! Take down the barricade! Quick!"

Kili stuck his head into the kitchen long enough to shout those words. Then he was gone, sprinting off in the direction of the hall with Fili not far behind. Soon the frantic voices of Gloin, Nori, Bifur, and Bofur joined them. We stood in the kitchen, at first unsure what to do. Then, we sprang into action, our curiosity driving forward.

"Who has arrived?" I asked.

"Has the battle begun already?" asked Ori.

We reached the base of the barricade where the others were already taking it apart as quickly as they possibly could while Thorin oversaw the process.

"What's going on?" I asked. "What's happening?"

Thorin turned to me., his expression grim. "Two armies have arrived from the west."

"Armies?"

"Orcs and wargs."

And right about then, I Skipped.

* * *

**A/N: It's okay if your response to this chapter is WTF. That's kind of my response. Like ,really - what was I ON!?**

**Anyway, please review! Because I love you and you love me and the more you review the more motivated I am to update and we are...one chapter away from finding out the story of Ana's dad. **


	73. This Is Not A Happy Story

**A/N: Probably the hardest chapter I have ever written for this story, but I had to write it at some point. I think I kind of lose coherence at the end of the chapter, but that's the point. As long as you get the gist of what's going on, then that's what I wanted.**

**I love you guys. (Just saying.) Thanks for sticking with me. **

* * *

**Chapter LXXIII: This Is Not A Happy Story**

The dull clop-clop of horse hooves on the dry ground beat rhythmically in my ears. I was standing in a sort of dead plain. Dirt and dust spread as far as the eye could see until my vision was rudely interrupted by a towering black-stone wall. The Black Gate. My heart sank. I was standing outside the Black Gate. For a second, I thought the gates would open and an army of orcs would storm upon me and kill me if I couldn't Skip away in time. But the, I realized that they wouldn't waste so much effort on little old me. They would just shoot me with an arrow and be done with it.

"Ana?"

I spun around and saw an army at my back.

I screamed. Maybe they really had sent an orc army after me. Then, I recognized the faces of Aragorn, Eomer, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and Gandalf (Legolas is now and shall always be a stranger to me.) They were propped up on horses, at the head of an army that was mostly on foot. The men looked nervous. Their eyes kept flitting back and forth, as though they hoped no one was looking and they could run away. It took me a moment to realize that they were marching on the Black Gate, as had been decided in the last debate.

"How did you arrive here before us?" asked Gimli.

I rolled my eyes. "Magic."

"You healed quickly," said Merry. "The last time that I saw you, you were screaming in pain in the Houses of Healing…"

"Um." I shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly, I spun around and cried, "Oh look! It's the Black Gate! So scary! Ah! Run away!"

The Fellowship stared at me.

"Had you not seen the Black Gate?" asked Aragorn.

I'm pretty certain Gandalf and Eomer were facepalming. And if they weren't doing so physically, then they were in their head. It's their natural reaction to me.

"Hey, Aragorn," I said, grinning. "Snazzy armor."

Aragorn smiled, but then returned to his grim expression. He had dropped the ranger look and was wearing the polished armor of Gondor with the outline of a white tree on the front and a long red cape.

"So," I said, stuffing my hands into my jeans pockets. "You're marching on the Black Gate."

Eomer and Aragorn exchanged amused glances.

"I will give you my armor if I do not survive," said Aragorn.

"I will give you my horse if I do not survive," said Eomer.

I glared at the white horse. "That's a _great_ idea. Let's give Ana a horse. It's not like she screams and runs away in terror every time one of those things gets near her. It's not like she has nightmares that she finds her one true love—a hottie with dark hair and blue eyes and they're about to be reunited after a long separation and they're almost together—and then Ana gets trampled by horses. Nah. She's not terrified at all. So let's give Ana a horse."

Eomer let out a bark of laughter. "But you were doing so well during the Battle of Pelennor Fields."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"I think that is a perfect representation of what we're doing right now," said Aragorn.

I turned around and glanced at the Black Gate. "Out one battle and into another."

"Why is Ana speaking words that make sense?" asked Pippin. "This is strange and uncomfortable."

"While Ana has nightmares about horses," said Merry. "I have nightmares about the day Ana actually makes sense. I will consider that the day I have finally lost my marbles."

"Consider mine long gone," said Eomer. "I have been capable of understanding her for a long time."

"He's snapped," I said, cheerfully. "Join me, Eomer. Join me."

Gandalf sighed. "Ana. Your stupidity in infectious."

"I'm—"

Skip

"—influential."

"Look out!"

Bard slammed into my right shoulder, knocking me to the ground. I landed with an awkward crunch. Tingles of pain shot through my bones and I let out an unearthly groaned, rolling onto my back. Unfortunately, rolling onto my back meant rolling onto a dead body. I shrieked and jumped to my feet, narrowly avoiding being stabbed by an orc. I reached into my boot and pulled out the Sword Breaker. The orc, grunting and sweating, lifted up his sword again. I took a step back—and tripped over another body (this one was an orc corpse).

"Aunt Ana!"

Bard leapt between us and swung his sword, lobbing off the orc's head. For a moment, the orc's body stood there, blood spurting from the neck. Then, the orc crumpled to the ground at Bard's feet.

I screamed.

"When did you arrive?" asked Bard.

"Look out!" I screamed, pointing madly behind him.

Bard spun around and swung his sword just in time to stop himself from losing his head at the teeth of a warg.

Skip.

The ring of swords against swords. The spray of blood. The world spinning, spinning, spinning—had I even Skipped at all? Yes. The scenery was different. I was no longer on the slopes of the Lonely Mountain, but standing on the desert ground outside the Black Gates of Mordor. Out of one battle and into another.

I managed to jerk the Sword Breaker upwards, just in time to protect my face from an orc blade. The orc was spitting in my face. I swung my leg upwards and managed to kick him in the stomach. The orc stumbled backwards while I screamed and fled in the opposite direction.

"Ana!"

"Gimli!" I cried, catching sight of the ginger dwarf. "It's happening again!"

"What is happening again?" Gimli hacked off an orc arm with his axe before turning to me. "Behind you."

I spun around. An orc—spitting with rage—was clawing at my face. I reached up and caught hold of his wrists before he could tear my eyes out. He snapped his teeth together, trying to gnaw my nose from my face.

Skip.

I brought the orc with me. I don't think he noticed that he was in a different time period. He just kept on trying to kill me right up until the moment when Fili drove a sword through the orc's side.

"Stop!" I screamed, covering my eyes with my hands. "Stop! Stop! Stop!"

"What am I doing?" asked Fili. (Pause to slice open an orc's chest.)

"What is wrong?" asked Kili, jumping over the deceased orc to join us. "Is Ana finally going insane? Should I call Thorin?"

"The Skip!" I wailed. "Back and forth! Back and forth! Back and forth! Back and forth! It doesn't stop! It doesn't stop! Make it stop!"

(Pause for Kili to chop of an orc's legs and stab him in the stomach.)

"I do not know what is happening," said Fili. "I cannot make it stop if you do not explain it."

"No one can make it stop," I wailed, rolling onto my back. "It just goes and goes and goes until it's had it's fun."

"You are not going anywhere now," said Fili. (Pause here for Fili to stab an orc in the neck.)

I opened one eye and squinted at him. "Are you sure?"

Kili nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. You are right here. You have not left. You are right here with us." (Pause here for Kili to split open an orc's skull.)

I sat up and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh my God. Every time this happens… Last time I ended up in hospital. Not a good idea. Ana in hospital is just asking for trouble—they have cameras. What happens if they get a Skip on camera? That's happened before, but they blamed it on a technical glitch. There's only so many times you can blame these things on technical glitches!"

"I have no idea what you are saying," said Kili. (Pause here for Kili to disarm an orc and for Fili to hack open his neck.)

"I never understand what she is saying," said Fili, panting a little. "I just pretend to."

For a second, I stared at the two brothers, open mouthed. Then, a grin split across my face and I tipped my head back and let out a bark of laughter. "You guys got to get on my level."

Fili and Kili exchanged nervous glances.

"It's alright, boys—I'll teach you my lingo someday."

"Ah!"

It was barely a sound. Barely a gasp. Just Kili's eyes going very wide and his lips moving, but only soft gasps were coming out. Fili and I were staring at Kili, our brows furrowed as we tried to figure out what was happening.

Kili's teeth were stained with blood and a red drop appeared at his lips and dripped down his chin. He was choking. I didn't know on what. Why was Kili bleeding? What had happened? I didn't understand. And then I looked down and saw the blade protruding from Kili's chest. The tip pointing out like a rhino horn that had erupted from his ribcage.

"K…" I couldn't even get the word out.

"Kili!" Fili lunged forward and grabbed his brother by the shoulder. "Ki—li." His voice broke. Raspy, gasping breaths came out. They were all either of us could manage.

I reached for Kili, my hand just brushing his shoulder before falling to my side.

Fili's arms were wrapped around Kili, holding his body as closely as possible, as though Fili hoped that their bodies would merge together into one being and he would never have to worry about losing Kili again.

I had the selfish desire to leave, to Skip away so I would never have to witness this scene. I could still run. Fili was trapped in this nightmare. The timeline would never change for him. Bit I, I could disappear. I could run away like I coward I am—to a different time and a different place. I could find Kili alive and pretend like his death never happened.

"Skip," I moaned. "Skip! Skip! Skip! Skip damn it! Why won't you ever happen when I want you too!?"

Fili couldn't hear me. He was somewhere far beyond. Like me, he had left this place and was somewhere back in time where Kili was alive and the thought of death had not even crossed his mind.

We were so far away that we did not see the orc with the double-handed sword approach. I don't even think Fili noticed when the orc drove the blade through his chest. I didn't notice when I Skipped. We were far, far away on a beach in the tropics where everyone was alive and having a good time roasting sausages and playing beach volleyball. Things like death and sorrow couldn't touch us. Not anymore.

"Ana!"

I was kneeling on the hot stone of Mordor. The rock scalded me through my jeans. I opened my eyes and stared at the two figures in front of me. Hobbits. Frodo and Sam.

"Ana! We found you," said Frodo.

"You disappeared," said Sam. "When you saw the mass of orcs were moving off towards the Black Gate, you Skipped away and we were not sure if you were alright."

"You're alright," I said.

Sam and Frodo exchanged worried glances. "Yes."

"You're alive and unharmed," I said. My face was wet with tears.

"Ana?" asked Frodo. "Ana?" he took a step closer to me and reached out a hand to touch my shoulder. His eyes were red and his face pale. Some part of him wanted to kneel in the dirt next to me and cry as well. "Ana, who died?"

Skip.

"Do not sit there!"

Eomer grabbed me by the back of the shirt and haul me to a standing position. My legs almost gave out beneath me, but Eomer held me up, while beheading an orc at the same time (he's multitalented like that).

"Stand!" roared Eomer. "You have a weapon—use it!"

"He's dead," I said.

"Yes," said Eomer. "We are in the middle of a war. People will die. You have to stand up and keep on fighting. The time for mourning is _after _but until that time, Ana, you have to stand up and _fight_."

I was crying again.

Eomer sighed. "Did you not understand a word I said?"

"I did," I said, holding up the Sword Breaker. "But you always make me cry. Stop it. I'm already an emotional wreck. Your motivational speeches just make things worse."

Eomer let go of my shirt so he could fight an orc.

Skip.

"I can't take much more of this."

I was face to face with an pale-blue orc. Purple liquid was bubbling between his teeth and he choked on the blood in his mouth. The sword protruding from his thorat slid back and out the other side. Azog's eyes rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the ground, folding in one himself.

Thorin was standing on the other side. He paused when he saw me—pale faced and pink-eyed—but he quickly spun around and drove his sword through the chest of another orc.

"Thorin!" I wailed, trying to grab his arm. He had to save Fili and Kili. He could do it. He had to. "Thorin!"

"Get out of here," said Thorin, pushing my hand away. "Skip."

"Don't leave me too." I felt my eyes tearing up again.

"Go!"

"Why?"

"I am telling you to _go_." Thorin grabbed my wrists. "Get out of here before something happens."

A low growl rolled through the hill, breaking the sound of clashing swords and dying screams. I spun around and found myself face to face with the drooling jaws of a warg.

His black eyes watched me hungrily and his hot breath blew into my face—sweltering and pungent. I gagged, burning bile rising in my throat. The warg growled again and he opened his jaw, revealing all of his yellowed teeth.

"Look out!"

Thorin pulled me back and leapt forward, swinging his sword.

The war batted the sword away.

I screamed.

Thorin scooped up a broken piece of wood from the ground. His blue eyes flashed with determination as he faced the warg.

"No!' I screamed.

I leapt forward and grasped Thorin's wrist. Don't! Don't! Stop! Don't be stupid!"

"Ana! Go away!"

"No!"

The warg bit down on Thorin's arm. Thorin roared in agony and the teeth sunk deeper into this flesh, breaking through the armor and drawing hot blood. Thorin was brought to his knee in front of me. His screams pierced through the air.

"Stop it.." I whispered. "Stop it."

The warg wouldn't stop. It just kept biting harder.

I didn't really think about what I was doing, I just leapt forward and slammed my hand down on the warg's head. Some part of my brain must have realized I was still holding the Sword Breaker. The blade broke through the warg's skull. The warg howled in pain, releasing Thorin. I shrieked and yanked the Sword Breaker out of the warg's head. I stumbled backwards and landed on top of Thorin.

"Ana!"

The warg contorted. It's body seemed to be having some sort of seizure. It reared back on its hind legs and then collapsed in a heap on the ground, heaving a coughing.

"I actually killed something," I said. "I actually killed something big."

"Get off me."

Thorin used his good arm to shove me off of him. We sat there, on the ground, hidden behind the warg's dead body, panting and gasping for air.

"Are alright?" I asked.

"Are you incapable of listening?" asked Thorin.

"What?"

"I told you to _leave_."

I gawked at him. "Um…Did you miss the part where I just saved your life?"

"Listen!"

I sat there, gawping at Thorin. Did he really just yell at me? I had just saved his life? When that warg had him between his teeth, I thought the world was collapsing around me and all I could think was that Thorin _could not_ die. And now that he was alive and well in front of me (albeit still in the middle of a battle), he was _yelling at me_. It hardly seemed fair.

"Stop it," I said. "Stop it." I was crying again. "Stop it. This isn't fair. Stop it."

"Go," said Thorin.

"No!"

"You cannot control it."

"Don't make me go," I said. "Don't make me go. I don't want to go. Don't make me leave you."

"Ana!"  
"Stop it! I need you!"

"Ana!"

"No!"

Skip.

The world has never hurt so much as it did right then. As I knelt in the dirt and rocks, staring up at the red fire of the volcano, I felt as though the world around me had been set on fire and was burning into a crisp before my very eyes. My chest was cracking and splitting into two. I could not know up from down let alone where I was.

Thorin.

Why? Why? Why? Why? What had I done? I just wanted him to live. Why? My most important person couldn't leave me. Not like that. Not like that. So why? Why? Why? Why did he treat me like that? I needed him. I _needed_ him. I just wanted to keep what I needed. Why? Why? Why?

The black sky rolled over head, like the running of horses through a field. Towards me. To knock me over and trample me to the ground. It did not matter if the world was a stampede of horses out to get me. I was already trampled over.

I lay on my back, sprawled out on the black stone ground.

Thorin.

"Think of home, Mister Frodo. Think of the Shire."

I opened my eyes. Through the red and black world, I could see a sliver of someplace else. Two hobbits, holding each other up. Speaking words of encouragement. They were almost there. Almost to their goal. Even if they had to carry each other the last few steps. Even if the burden dragged them to the ground and they had to crawl up the mountainside, they would reach their goal.

Keep crawling.

I wanted to reach out a hand, give them a push, but I didn't have the energy.

Thorin.

"I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you."

Carry me too. I can't do this anymore. This place. This world. Never have I wanted to quit as much as now. Carry me. I can't do it by myself anymore.

A rock was sticking into my back. Multiple rocks. A jagged pain in my right shoulder blade. One in my lower back. One in the left side of my head. One in my left thigh. I should get up. I was so uncomfortable. And yet, I would not move. Not a muscle. I just accepted the pain.

Thorin.

Keep crawling.

Carry me too.

"Clever hobbitses, to climb so high."

No.

Stop.

You cannot control it.

Don't go.

Carry me too.

I need you.

Stop.

Gollum. That treacherous creature. From up on the rocks, he leapt on the hobbits. His teeth flashed as he buried them in Frodo's shoulder. Frodo screamed and pushed off Sam's back. The three went toppling to the ground, rolling down the slopes of Mount Doom.

I squinted.

Gollum grabbed a rock and threw it at Sam's head. Sam yelped and fell backwards.

I should help.

Sam sat up, blood trickling down the side of his head.

I couldn't move. There was no strength left.

Gollum grabbed the side of Sam's head and smashed it into the stone step. Once. Twice. Three times. Sam's body twitched and then lay still.

"No."

My hands reached out and found solid ground.

You cannot control it.

Frodo got to his feet. His right hand clutched the Ring. Step forward.

I need you.

My hands pushed off the ground. My knee moved. I found some part of my strength again.

Gollum leapt towards Frodo.

I stood up. One step.

Don't make me go.

Frodo screamed as Gollum knocked him to the ground.

Two steps.

Stop. I need you. The world needs you. Stop. This melting world needs you. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Gollum and Frodo rolled on the ground, trying to claw each other to pieces.

Red light. They eye turned around. It could see. It could see us. It knew. It knew. It was coming for the Ring. It was all over.

"Stop!" I screamed.

Don't make me go.

Gollum smashed a rock into the side of Frodo's head.

It was happening again. Again. Again. Again. Stop. Once was more than enough. Twice. Three times. Why would it never end.

"End already! Stop! Stop! Stop!"

They were dead. Fili and Kili dead. Frodo and Sam dead. Thorin was alive and he hated me for it. The Ring was discovered. My legs collapsed beneath me and I fell on the rocky slope. This time, I didn't get up again.

Skip.

The rocky slope changed to soft cushions. I was lying on a couch, a pillow beneath my stomach. I pushed the pillow off the couch and it landed on the floor. Let me sleep. Pause. I blinked. And, slowly, I moved myself to a sitting position. I was in my living room. My living room. No one else's. Mine. In my apartment. In Ohio. In Earth. Mine.

I was back.


	74. The Senturiel

**LXXIV: The Senturiel**

My mother found me first.

As it turned out, my parents had actually been living in my apartment, waiting (and hoping) for my return. So, when I wound up on my couch. My mother was in the kitchen, doing the dinner dishes, while my dad made a few phone calls to his business partner at the jewelry store. My mother heard the thud of the pillow on the floor and came out to the living room to see what had happened.

And there I was. Sitting on my couch. Staring around the room in surprise. And my mother. Standing in the doorway of the kitchen, gasping.

"Ana?"

"Mom?"

She looked tired. There were shadows under her brown eyes and her blond hair seemed to be graying a little. She was holding a red dishrag in his right hand and was using it to wipe the water off her left hand. She pause and the rag slid out of her hand onto the floor.

"You're back."

She stumbled forward, as if walking across a dark room.

I got to my feet and grinned. "Hey, Mom. What's up? Did I miss anything? I didn't miss my birthday again, did I? Because that would suck. Or did I miss your birthday. Shoot. I think I did. Please, don't kill me. I'll go buy you a real nice present."

"Ana!"

Mom flung her arms around my neck and held me close. She was a good few inches taller than me and my head was crushed against her shoulder. My arms flailed about uselessly for a second, and then I wrapped my arms around her too.

"I missed you," she said, her breath rustling my hair.

I didn't respond. I was already crying. Again. Seriously. That has to stop. Maybe I should get a plug to stop up my leaky faucet. Or I could just tape some Kleenex to my face and be done with it. Urg.

My tears only made my mother hold me tighter. "I missed you too. I missed you too. I missed you too."

The door to the living room opened and my dad stepped out of the bedroom. "Karl says he has things under control, though I should make another visit this we—" He paused. His blue eyes widened. He swallowed. "Ana."

My mom turned us around so I could face my dad over her shoulder. I smiled, a big, watery smile that was reserved only for my dad. "Hey."

"Hey." He managed a crooked half-smile that was reserved only for me.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Mister," I said, waggling my right index finger at him. "Do you know how many nights I've lain awake trying to figure out how you managed to get from Middle Earth to here? I mean, _really_—can we talk about bad timing?"

My mother was bawling too. I had somehow managed to get my tears under control, but that didn't stop the dreaded sniffling. Mom's grip around me had become so tight, that I was afraid she would snap me into a thousand pieces and I'd never be able to breathe again.

"Lexie," said Dad. "I think you should let Ana go. Maybe make some coffee."

"Yes, please," I said as my mother released me from her iron grip. "I have not had coffee in so long. The withdrawal symptoms were kicking in. Not a pretty sight. I was getting all _twitchy_. Like, have you seen those zombie movies where they're losing their jaws and drooling everywhere? Yeah. That's me on coffee withdrawal."

Mom managed a weak laugh as she moved to the kitchen to turn on the kettle. I flopped back down on the sofa and my dad took the lazy boy.

"So what have you been up to?" asked Dad.

"No," I said. (Recent memories were better left unmentioned.) "No. No. No. You first. I don't want to Skip again. You first."

Dad smiled. "You sure you don't want a shower or something first."

"Showers later. Story first. And coffee. Coffee is very important."

"I'm working on it!" Mom called out from the kitchen.

I turned to my dad. A small smile cracked on my face. "I missed you."

"Same here." Dad leaned back in his chair. "The story doesn't really begin with my birth. It begins with a dwarf named Geirfast the Stone Biter."

"Garefast?"

* * *

Geirfast the Stone Biter is a dwarvish legend. He was born in the beginning of the Third Age during the prosperity of Moria—before the balrog was awakened. Geirfast was renowned for his ability to eat anything and everything—even elvish lettuce. It is said that one day his friends put a plate of stones in front of him and Geirfast ate them. That was how he gained his name 'the Stone Biter'. Dwarves would come from all around to see Geirfast consumed stones as if they were simple pieces of bread. Dwarves always liked to brag about their iron stomachs, and Geirfast had the ironest stomach of them all. He was famous.

He was also one of the few dwarves bold enough to travel outside the mountain. He would travel to surrounding villages and sell the wares that the dwarves could bear to part with. South, north, east, west—Geirfast travelled across Middle Earth. Even to a town called Bree. (Can you see where the story is going yet?)

In the beginning of the Third Age, Bree was one of those little towns that was still finding its bearings in the world. It didn't even have an inn yet. The local blacksmith housed guests and his wife and two daughters would care for the rare traveler.

Geirfast was only passing through when he made his first visit to Bree. He stayed with the blacksmith and spent the night telling stories of Moria to the wife and her two daughters. The youngest daughter, Leila, was only twelve at the time, but she was fascinated by Geirfast's stories and she listened all night to the strange dwarf until she fell asleep by the fireside. When Leila awoke the next morning, Geirfast was gone. She did not see him again for five years. (A convenient amount of time for her to grow into a beautiful blue haired, brown eyed woman.)

In those five years, the Inn of the Prancing Pony was built and Bree had grown to a popular resting place for travelers. Gossip spread about Bree like wildfire and Leila no longer had to listen to hungry dwarves for information on the outside world. She could sit in the inn and chat with the men of the north and the hobbits from the Shire. Everyone stayed at the inn. Except for Geirfast. When he returned to Bree, selling jewelry from Moria, Geirfast decided to stay with his old friend, the blacksmith. And there, he met Leila, now seventeen.

Did you know that interracial marriages are not common in Middle Earth? Elves don't marry men. Men don't marry dwarves. Dwarves don't marry hobbits. And we're not even going to consider the possibility of a dwarf marrying an elf.

The marriage between the dwarf, Geirfast the Stone Biter and the human, Leila the blacksmith's daughter was renown throughout Bree and the Shire. Dwarves from the mountain came down to witness it, bringing with them the riches of Moria as a wedding gift. The celebration lasted weeks, with dwarves almost wrecking the inn. You know dwarves, they come, they party, they leave a mess in the bathroom, and then they depart.

Geirfast and Leila had a happy life in Bree. Geirfast took over his father-in-law's blacksmith trade and Leila ran the home after her parents passed away. It was said that only Geirfast could have married Leila—after all, only the Stone Biter could survive her cooking.

During their time in Bree, the fall of Moria occurred with the awakening of the balrog. When dwarves fled Moria and arrived in Bree, Geirfast and Leila were there to take them in. They helped the dwarves settle throughout the Brandywine and in the Blue Mountains. Geirfast became famous amongst the dwarves once again, but this time for a very different reason.

Geirfast and Leila also had a family. Their eldest child was a boy named Alred, he grew up to be a stone carver and went to live in the Blue Mountains with his dwarvish wife. The second child was a girl named Mithrelle. She married a Took and lived in Hobbiton. The third child was Galin Stonebiter (the last name had been adapted). He was born and raised in Bree with his siblings and parents. Galin was a good bit younger than Alred and Mithrelle, and by the time he was old enough to possess any reasonable intelligence, his siblings had already left Bree. So, he grew up as an only child who wanted to claim as much of his parent's attention as possible while trying to escape it. Which meant he was a born troublemaker.

Yeah. This is my Dad we're talking about. I know what you're thinking—that is _not_ a troublemaker. Apparently, he was.

His goal in life was to drive his parents insane. Galin refused to learn the art of stonework from his father and he spent his adolescence chasing around the pretty girls of Bree. (My mother was giving my dad disapproving looks at that point.) Basically, my dad was the player of Bree back in the day.

Anyway, one day a group of strange men from the north passed through Bree, and Galin saw it as an opportunity to cause trouble. They were carrying with them a precious box. He didn't know what was in it, but he thought it would be entertaining to steal the box, see what was inside it, and then return it. He didn't want to _keep_ it. He just wanted to cause a little worry and maybe show it off for this girl whose attention he had been trying to get. (My mom gave him more disapproving looks at this point in the story.)

Galin planned the theft carefully. He waited until the group of men, all dressed in black and armed to the teeth, were down in the front room of the inn, eating dinner and drinking, and he snuck into their room—climbed in through the window—and stole the precious box. No one noticed. He slipped away into the night without anyone following him—or, at least, he thought no one was following him.

He didn't know what was in the box. And if he had known…well, he probably would have stolen it anyway. (Who wouldn't want to brag that they stole the Senturiel?) Not that he knew what it was at the time. My dad didn't actually know the name of the Senturiel until I told him the story a few months ago about how the Senturiel had been a gift from the Valar to the men of the Numenor. He did not know that the stone had driven its first owner, Atanaclar insane. He did not know that the men of the Numenor had kept the stone locked away for centuries to prevent its further use. He did not now that the men dressed in black were Dunedain who were bringing the Senturiel to Galadriel for safe keeping. Galin had no way of knowing that at the time. He opened the smooth, black box that contained the dangerous gift, saw a glistening red stone the size of his thumbnail, and thought—oh, how pretty.

And that's when the dark shadow attacked. My dad couldn't really describe what came at him. It was a figure from the darkness that came from out of an alleyway and lunged at him, trying to take the stone. Galin snatched the stone out of the box in an attempt to protect it.

He Skipped to a coffee shop.

He described it as disorienting. (It's always disorienting. You would think, after the first dozen Skips, I would get used to it, but every single time, it's disorienting.) But for Galin, who was born and raised in Middle Earth, his arrival in Ohio was especially disorienting. Cars. Light bulbs. Electronics. Metal machines. Coffee. Middle Earth had none of that. Where? What? How? When? Why? There were no answers except for the Senturiel that he clutched in his right hand. That red stone was his only connection to Middle Earth.

I probably owe my very existence to that coffee shop. You see, my mother was working at that very coffee shop that day my dad appeared. She was about ten years younger than him (but my dad's dwarvish heritage means that he'll live longer than the average human and age slower, so technically, it's like she was five years older than him at the time) and working her way through college. Lexie was the only person to see Galin appear out of thin air. Everyone else just thought a guy from the Renaissance fair had walked in, but Lexie knew something else was up. She sat Galin down with a cup of coffee and told him to wait until she finished her shift. When she was done working, she sat down and asked Galin to explain everything. And he did. The two of them wrapped up the Senturiel in a napkin so that it couldn't Skip without them wanting it to—the Senturiel only works if it's in contact with you directly. So, Lexie took Galin and the Senturiel home with her and taught Galin the ways of her world.

Eventually, they got married. They became Galin and Lexie Stonbit (a last name derived from Stonebiter.)

Lexie introduced Galin to a friend of hers, Karl Stein. Karl was going into the jewelry business and Lexie thought Galin's talents (he was part dwarf, after all) would help Karl. So, the two men opened Stonbit and Stein Jewelers—which turned out to be quite successful (dwarvish jewelry arts for the win!)

As time went on, Galin saw no reason to return to Middle Earth. He had a stable career. He had a beautiful wife. And he had me. His precious, blond, little baby Ana.

I'm not going to lie, I was a beautiful baby. Like _gorgeous_. Soft blond hair and big blue eyes and pale, pudgy cheeks. You know that baby food brand—the Gerber baby? Of course, you don't know it. But anyway, that was me. I was the perfect little angel. Grandmother loved to come up to baby-me in the grocery stores and pinch my cheeks. They did that all the way up until eighth grade when I glared at any old lady who came within cheek-pinching distance of me. I was a shorty even in eighth grade, so people thought I was seven instead of thirteen.

My cuteness aside, Galin decided to stay in Ohio. Lexie and he bought a house just outside Toledo. They put the Senturiel in a glass box on the mantelpiece as a pretty decoration and a reminder of Galin's roots. Then they proceeded to forget about Middle Earth and carry on with their lives.

Well, a good five years passed.

I was six at the time. My dad was at work and my mom was making dinner in the kitchen. Little toddler me was playing in the living room and the Senturiel caught my eye. Don't ask me why I was attracted to the glittering red rock. I like to blame it on my dwarvish heritage. My grandfather was attracted to bright rocks, my father was attracted to bright rocks, and now I am inflicted with the same curse.. Anyway, I got a chair and climbed onto it and plucked the Senturiel from the mantelpiece and…ate it.

I really am Geirfast the Stone Biter's granddaughter.

* * *

I spat coffee all over the couch. "Are you telling me that I frigging _ate_ the Senturiel!?"

Dad shrugged. "Yes. I think it is genetic."

"I ate the magical time-skipping gift from the gods that causes it's users to go insane? I _ate_ it?"

"Yes."

My mother sighed. "We kept hoping you would poop it out, but no such luck. The Senturiel decided to stay inside you."

"I think it likes you a lot," said Dad.

"Well, I don't like it!" I cried. "It made my life a living hell! Dad, you're lucky. You only Skipped once and you were done with it. I've been Skipping since I was _six_. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. What? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

My mother looked heartbroken. She kept looking at my dad and then back to me. Her mouth would open and then close and then she tried to wipe away a tear in her eye and then she turned back to my dad. And then back to me. "Oh, Ana…"

"We lost the time to tell you," said Dad. "We thought six was far too young to explain it. And you did not Skip right away, so we thought the stone had lost its abilities. The first time you Skipped, we did not notice, you were in your room and you came back right away. We did not realize you were Skipping until you were seven. And at that point, you did not even remember eating the Senturiel. We could not figure out how to explain it to you. And, by the time you were old enough to understand, we realized that it was odd for us to have waited that long. Eventually, we pretended not to know, because we did not know what else to do."

"Well that's stupid." I sat back on the couch and crossed my arms. "You people suck."

Mom had stopped crying (I think I got my crybaby side from her) and was not torn between whether she should hug me or not.

"But," I said, picking up my coffee mug and take a sip. "You just revealed the fact that I am part dwarf and that makes up for anything else that you've done wrong."

Mom stopped trying to reach out to me and she frowned. "What?"

Dad sighed. "I thought that would be your reaction."

"I mean, I can't _wait_ to see the expression on Thorin's face! He's going to be like—you are a shame to the name of dwarves—and I'll be like—please, you're secretly happy that I'm part dwarf. And it explains why I'm so frigging short! And can we just appreciate the majestic potential I now possess. Even though I'm a far cry from majestic. I have the potential in me by simply being part dwarf."

For a second, my mother looked confused. Then she smiled. "You haven't changed at all."

"Excuse me," I said, crossing my arms. "Dwarves are frigging amazing. Who wouldn't want to be a dwarf." I paused. "This also explains my instinctive hatred towards elves. And my instinctive stupidity—I must have gotten that from Dad."

"You did," said Mom.

"So tell me what you've been up to," said Dad, leaning back in his seat.

I scowled. "People die. Fili and Kili died. Frodo and Sam died. Again. And I saved Thorin's life, but he's mad at me about it."

"Let me get this straight," said Dad. "Frodo and Sam have the Ring and they're trying to destroy it, but they keep dying before they can reach the mountain to destroy it in."

"Don't say it so simply!" I cried. "Each death is a painful memory for me.

"You're right, honey," said Mom, patting me on the knee. "We'll be more sensitive. But, just to make sure I have this right—Thorin is the majestic dwarf that you're in love with, correct?"

"No!"

"She's in denial of her love," said Dad.

"You guys are mean."

Dad and Mom were almost doubled over with laughter. I think it's a parent thing. They're amused by the thought of their clumsy daughter in love with a dwarf king—who I don't love. Because he's a jerk. Who doesn't appreciate me saving his life. Especially when I'm emotionally unstable after watching _his_ nephews die. Stupid Thorin.

I closed my eye and took a deep breath. My parents were winding down their laughter, until there was only a few soft chuckles left.

"I don't want him to die."

"Who?" asked Mom.

I glanced up at her. "I know what I _have_ to do. But I can't do it."

"What do you have to do?" asked Mom.

Dad wasn't saying anything. I think he knew as well as I did what had to happen. He stared at the empty coffee cup in his hands. "It's your choice. What you do next. No one can make it for you. It's your choice."

"That only makes it harder," I said.

"It makes the choice real."

"Reality sucks."

"I'm so confused," said Mom. "What are you two talking about?"

I took a deep breath. And another. And another. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but it took my last ounce of willpower to say it. "My most important thing has to die."

"What's your most important thing?" asked Mom. "Is it us? Are you going to kill your parents?"

"No," I said.

"It's the person she loves," said Dad.

"Oh," said Mom. "Why do you have to kill Thorin?"

I sighed. "Do you _want_ me to throw this coffee mug at your head? It would be a waste of a perfectly good coffee mug."

"I'll duck," said Dad. "I have amazing reflexes."

"Which you didn't pass on to me," I said begrudgingly.

"Sorry about that."

Mom sighed and took the empty coffee mug out of my hands. "So what are you going to do now, Ana?"

"I'm going to go back to Middle Earth," I said.

"How?" asked Mom. "I thought you had no control over the Skips."

"I don't," I said. "But I can change that."

Dad gritted his teeth and leaned back in his chair. "Your friend. What's his name? The nancy boy who goes through multiple girlfriends? Nick. Nick's uncle is a surgeon, right?"

"Yes."


	75. That Girl In A Red Dress

**LXXV: That Girl In The Red Dress**

A girl in a red dress is standing on a cliff edge. Oh wait. That was me. I think I was having some sort of out-of-body experience in a dream. I was dreaming. I was definitely dreaming. It was one of those dreams where you're conscious of the fact that you're dreaming. So, when I saw myself standing on a cliff edge with long blond hair (a good few inches longer than its current length), I knew that I was fine. Probably lying in a bed somewhere, drooling on the pillow.

So, anyway, this long-haired version of me was standing on the edge of a cliff in a red dress. (So, apparently in my dreams I like to wear floor-length red dresses. I looked it up. A red dress symbolizes an expression of femininity. Aggression, passion, and vigor. Personally, I think I just like to imagine myself looking _good_ in a long red dress. But—hey—who am I to argue with the dream experts.)

I'm off-topic again. Dang. It's because being off-topic is so much fun. Alright, back to the dream. Older version of me standing on a cliff edge. I couldn't see what the cliff edge over looked, but I think it was the sea. Wind was blowing her hair (I was working my model pose—future career option there) and she turned to talk over my shoulder.

That was when I saw my boyfriend. Of sorts. I mean, he's not _technically_ my boyfriend. He's more like my stalker. Raoulidor was in my dream. (I looked up the interpretation of having a stalker in your dream too, and apparently, it means that you have an issue that you're not confronting. I don't know what that issue is. Perhaps I haven't quite admitted that modeling is not the career for me.)

Raoulidor said something to the older-version of me. She rolled her eyes and snapped back a retort (it's good to know that the future me is so sassy).

And then she jumped off a cliff.

God, damn it.

It's not like I didn't have enough problems on my plate at the time, now I had to worry about whether my future self was suicidal or not. I was stressed out enough without another one of my weird dreams creeping up on me. Like, what if something went wrong with the surgery? What if I Skipped on the operating table? What if I winded up in Erebor with blood streaming from my open stomach and no one could save me and I just bled to death before I could Skip home? What if I never saw my parents again? What if I never saw Thorin again? What if I could never save Middle Earth? What if the last thing I saw was my mother crying? What if the last thing I heard was Nick wishing me "good luck"? What if I died on that operating table in a failed attempt to be free of this curse and in the end, it was the curse that kills me? Only my world could be that cruel.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling was white. Great. That could mean two things. Firstly, I was dead and in a white walled, white ceilinged waiting room to get into heaven. But, actually, I probably wasn't going to heaven. I don't think heaven likes cowards. So that leaves the second option—I was in a hospital bed after waking up from surgery.

Well, that was a good thing.

I swallowed once or twice. There was a sharp pain in my stomach, but other than that I felt pretty fine.

"Ana?"

I rolled my head to the right and saw Bonnie sitting in the bedside chair. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun and she was dressed in a simple sweatshirt and jeans. Her eyes became really wide at the sight of me. Then she jumped to her feet and rushed to my side.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I tried to sit up and the sharp pain in my side grew to unimaginable proportions. "Arhck!" I sunk back into the bed. "Not a good idea."

"Take your time," said Bonnie.

"The Senturiel?" I asked. "Where is it? Did they touch it? What happened?"

"Nick told his uncle that the stone was poisonous and no one should touch it directly," said Bonnie. "I think his uncle knew we were lying, but he went along with it anyway. It's there." She pointed to the bedside table.

There was a little Ziploc plastic bag on the wooden table top. I squinted and I could see the glittering red stone the size of a thumbnail. It was kind of pretty. It wasn't a smooth cut, but small and a little rough around the edges. There was something beautiful about its unperfection, something surreal and powerful. I blinked. Something inside my stomach shifted. That godly gift had been inside of me for the past sixteen years. It must hold a massive grudge against me.

The longer I stared at the Senturiel, the more painful the feeling inside my stomach became. It was like the grating of sandpaper against wood. It was never ending uncomfortable, even painful feeling that just kept growing. I felt the overwhelming urg to throw the Senturiel on the floor and stomp on it until it became nothing more than a fine red power. Then, I could scatter the powder across the world so that no one could put the stupid stone back together again. I fucking hated that thing.

"Ana?"

Bonnie reached out and caught hold of my wrist. "Are you alright?"

I lifted my right hand to my face and found that my cheeks were wet. I left my arm draped over my eyes and I took a deep, shattering breath. "I thought my life was full of complex relationships. People I hated, but I was friends with. People who I love with all my being, but I have to sacrifice for the greater good. I thought no one could have a relationship more complex than mine. But that was before I saw this stone. I want to destroy it. Not just once. A thousand times over. Bonnie. You have no idea how much hatred I feel right now. I can't just _destroy_ a gift from the gods. I can't just smash it to a thousand pieces. And because I can't do that, I just have to sit here and _look_ at it. My God, just _looking_ at it fills me with disgust. I would gouge my eyes out if it mean I didn't have to see it anymore. I hate it."

"Ana…" Bonnie squeezed my hand.

"It ruined my life. All those things I wanted to experience? Gone. I had to quit college because of that thing. I can't even keep a boyfriend for longer than a month because of that thing. I missed my senior prom because of that thing. I've only had about five birthdays because of that thing. I _hate _it. Get it out of my sight. _Now_!"

Bonnie released my hand and moved towards the bedside table. She picked up the Ziploc bag by the corner, careful not to touch anywhere near the Senturiel.

"Don't!" I cried.

Bonnie paused and stared at me. "But you just said…"

"I _know_ what I just said." I removed my arm from my face and sat up. Bonnie was standing in the hospital room, only a foot away from my bed. Her hazel eyes were wide, framed by shadows. She looked as though she had seen a ghost, or a crazy person. And, maybe she had.

"I know," I said again. "I hate that rock, but I don't want anyone else to touch it."

Bonnie didn't move.

"Put it back," I said. "Put it back or I will jump out of this bed and unleash a whole can of whoop-ass on you and you are _not_ going to like it."

A faint smile crossed Bonnie's face and she lowered herself back into her seat. She placed the Ziploc bag back on the bedside table.

"Alright, Ana," she said. "Keep talking."

"It's mine," I said. "I've met so many people thanks to that thing. Boromir and Eomer. Taysend, Gaenry, and Dorthin. Merry, Pippin, Frodo, and Sam. Bilbo. Fili, Kili, Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Balin, Dwalin—I think I actually remembered all their names—oh wait, Ori, Nori and Dori. Riwen. Gandalf. Arwen and Eowyn. Aragorn and Gimli—hell, even Legolas." I paused for a breath.

"And Thorin," said Bonnie.

"I was getting there," I said. "Without this thing I would never have met Thorin. There are not words to describe what Thorin means to me. And without this thing, I would never have him. But that's not all. As important as Thorin is to me, I would have given up meeting him if it meant a chance for a normal life. I would destroy this thing in an instant—even if it meant never meeting Thorin—if I could start over again and live like I ought to. But there's more. That thing. That thing that I hate so much that I want to throw up over and over again until my body is purge of its presence. That thing—it's me. I'm Ana, the girl that Skips. The girl that is just passing through. I'm neither here nor there, I'm just…it's me. And if I crush the Senturiel into thousand pieces so no one can ever use it again—will I still be me?"

Bonnie wasn't looking at me. Her hands were folded in her lap and her feet her flat on the floor. She was staring at her blue boots, determined not to glance at me. I turned away from her too. I didn't want to see her attempt to avoid me. It might be more than I could bear.

I lifted up a hand to my throat, searching for comfort. But the metal chain was not there.

My heart skipped a beat and I sat upright. The bedside table was empty. Had it fallen? Had I lost it? Where was it?

"What are you looking for?" asked Bonnie, her voice breaking just a little.

"My necklace. The locket. The one I got from Thorin. Where is it?"

Bonnie frowned. "You gave it to me before surgery, don't you remember?"

"What?"

"You couldn't wear it into surgery, so you gave it to me for safe keeping." She reached into her purse and pulled out the metal chain. The gold and silver locket, still in perfect condition, dangled at the end of chain, swinging from side to side.

I sunk back into the pillows and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

She handed it to me and I opened the locket. The little gem was still there, clean up and glittering. I snapped the locket part shut and ran my thumb across the surface. It really was about the size of my fingerprint.

"You'll always be you."

I glanced up at Bonnie. "What?"

"As if you could be anyone else but you," said Bonnie. She still wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on the locket that I kept opening and closing with my thumb. She took a deep breath. "You're Ana not because you come and go without warning. You're Ana because you say random stupid things. You're Ana because you don't have a filter and you can say whatever the hell you want. You're Ana because you love your friends and you try so hard for us. You're Ana because even though you can be a coward, you can also be one of the bravest people I know. You're Ana because you take on the burdens of the world and keep on smiling until you collapse under the weight you're carrying and keep on smiling. You're Ana and we love you for it. Even Legolas. So—"

The locket made a clicking sound and the gem toppled out from its spot onto the white hospital sheets.

"What the frig!" I cried.

"Hey! Don't interrupt my speech!" Bonnie whacked my shoulder. "I'[m not done telling you how you don't need the Senturiel to be you and we'll all love you no matter what decision you make!"

"The gem fell out of my locket," I said. "How cheap. Can you believe this? Thorin gives Frodo a present that's worth the whole frigging Shire and then he gives me this cheap locket that falls apart a month after owning it."

"Are you even listening to me?" asked Bonnie.

I picked up the gem and turned it over in my hand. "Do you think it'll fit back in the locket?"

"I think you're stupid and doomed to remain alone and friendless for the rest of your life."

I rolled the gem back and forth in the palm of my hand. "You know, it's about the same size as the Senturiel."

"You could always smash that stone and pretend it's the Senturiel. That might help you with some of your pent up rage," said Bonnie.

I reached over and snatched the Ziploc bag off my bedside table. I held up the bag and compared the sizes of the two rocks. Perfect. I opened the Ziploc bag and dumped the stone onto the sheet (Warning: Exposed Dangerous Substance). Careful to pick the Senturiel up using the white sheet as a cover, I wrestled the Senturiel into the slot of the locket where the white gem had previously been. There was a click and I moved the sheet to reveal the Senturiel in place.

"What are you doing?" asked Bonnie, leaning forward.

I snapped the locket shut and turned to grin at her. "So now, I can wear it on me without I touching my skin, but if I ever need to Skip, I can just open the locket and—bam! There's the Senturiel."

Bonnie frowned. "Well, that's convenient. Thorin got you that?"

"He knows me so well," I said, smugly. "And here I thought he just randomly picked up the first thing he saw and called it a gift."

Bonnie snorted. "That's probably what happened."

"Well, even his luck knows me so well."

"How is it that we're speaking the same language and I still don't understand you?" asked Bonnie.

"You failed all of your high school English classes," I said.

"I didn't fail them all," said Bonnie. "I managed to get a B senior year. Because the teacher gave us a thousand bonus points for just showing up to class."

"Great," I said. "Good thing he wasn't my teacher. I was in Middle Earth for half of my high school career."

* * *

Brown leather riding boots—check. Dark colored pants—check. Long sleeved white shirt—check. Sports bra—check. Dark green jacket—check. The Sword Breaker in right boot—check. Wearing as close as I can get to a Middle Earth outfit so I don't get stared at by every person I see—check.

I sighed and opened the door to my bedroom. It was empty. Cardboard boxes of my things were being carried out to the car where my parents would take back to their house. Almost all my things had been shipped out and I now stood in the bare bones of what had been my apartment. I felt as it looked—empty. Mom was down at the car, loading the kitchenware, while Dad was carrying down the next load of clothes. Catching sight of me, my dad paused halfway to the door. After a moment's consideration, he placed the box he was carrying on the sofa and turned to survey me.

"Not bad," he said, giving my clothes the once over. "Still weird for Middle Earth, but you can probably pass by."

"That bad?" I asked.

"You are wearing pants," said Dad. "The women of Middle Earth _rarely_ wear pants."

"Yeah. I get weird looks for that one."

Dad sighed. "Are you sure you want to move out?"

I nodded. "When I come back, I think I'll need a change of scenery."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yep."

Dad ran his finger along the edge of the cardboard box. "When you come back?"

"That's what we're telling Mom, right?"

"You'll try to come back."

"I don't know."

Dad let go of the box and stepped around the sofa. He stood in front of me that little half-smile of his that belonged only to me was dancing across his face. I smiled back with that curved smile that was reserved only for him.

"You're my girl," said Dad. "You'll always be my girl. Even if you're in another world exchanging insults with an elf, you'll still be my girl."

I snorted. "Stupid elves."

"They're really stupid looking, aren't they?" said Dad.

"Ridiculous. Have you seen their pointy ears?" I held back a sniffle. "They can't even grow beards."

Dad wrapped his arms around my shoulders and pulled me close. I flung my arms around his chest and held on so tightly that I thought I might suffocate him. My dad is short. Not as short as me, but he's five-foot-four—which is short for a human—but it made him the perfect hugging height for me.

"You'd better grow a nice full beard for me," I said.

"You don't like my stubble?"

"It's unmajestic."

"Then, I promise I'll grow a long, majestic beard for you," said Dad. "Even more majestic than Thorin's."

"Don't be stupid," I said. "Thorin is the epitome of majesty."

There was a click and then the rush of a door opening. I glanced over my dad's shoulder to see my mother entering the apartment. She pushed the door shut behind her and just sort of stood on the doormat for a second. She saw me and cracked a smile. "Am I missing the group hug? Or is this a father-daughter moment?"

"It was a father-daughter thing," I said. "But we're open to changes."

It took Mom seven steps to cover the distance of the room. She embrace both my father and me at once and buried her face in my shoulder.

"Don't go," she said. "I know I'm being selfish, but, Baby, don't go."

"I'm going," I said. "There's something I have to do. I'm going."

"You'll be back," said Mom. "You'd better be back or I'm going to ground you for a lifetime."

"I'll try," I said. "I don't want to face your wrath."

"You'll be back," said Mom. "You'll be back."

"I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try."

"She'll be back for the coffee," said Dad. "Middle Earth doesn't have any coffee. Lexie, do you think our daughter could survive in a world without coffee?"

"Exactly," I said. "And they don't have tampons. How am I supposed to survive without tampons?"

"Okay," said Dad. He released me and my mother and forced his way out of the group hug. "That's my cue to leave." He moved to the couch and picked up the cardboard box. "I'll be down at the car."

With Dad went the last of my things. Suddenly, the concept of no return hit me. I clutched my mother's hand for comfort and she held on just as tightly.

"You're going to go see Bonnie and Nick?" she asked.

"I need one more cup of coffee before I go," I said.

She nodded. "How's your stomach?"

Instinctively, my hand reached up to clutch the locket. "Fine. A month and I can't feel anything. Nick's uncle did a good job."

"Do you have to leave now?" asked Mom. "You could wait another day. Or another week. It doesn't make a difference."

I took a deep, calming breath. It was tempting, so tempting to listen to my mother. I had been putting it off for a month. Next week. Next week. I'll Skip next week. Eventually, Nick sat me down and said—pick a date, you'll go then. And now, the date had arrived. There was no backing out of it now.

"No," I said. "It's time. I'm going."

"I know," said Mom. "I just thought I'd try."

"Normally, I'd subtract Cool Points for you trying to tempt me into staying, but since I love you so much, I'll just add ten Cool Points instead. You're now at negative twenty-three Cool Points. Isn't that great?"

"As your mother, I am doomed to be in the negatives forever, aren't I?"

"Of course. It's an expression of love, I promise."

"Let's hope so."

* * *

I stood in the empty shell of my apartment. My parents had hit the road just fifteen minutes ago after a tearful farewell. And now it was just me and my apartment. (My parents didn't want to interrupt the dramatic and soppy good-bye that was about to commence—I can't say I blame them.)

I wiped a tear from my eye and then patted the kitchen counter.

"We've seen some good times, old pal," I said. "I probably haven't treated you as well as you deserved, but I want you to know,, the fact that you put up with my mess for so long means a lot to me. Personally, if I had been my apartment, I would opened up a hole in the floor and gobbled me up a long time ago. Your patience is amazing. If I could sing, I would write a song about you. But my voice might break all the glass in here, and I don't think that would be a nice farewell gift from me to you now, would it?"

I was tearing up.

"You've been great. I wish we could have stayed together longer. It's not you, it's me. I have to leave. I have something important to do that I don't want to do, but it has to be done. And I'm going to hate myself for it. And you don't want to see me like that."

The waterworks had begun.

"But I'm going to miss you!"

I darted for the door as fast as my legs could take me. I threw the door open and darted out into the hallway. I slammed the door shut behind me and stood there, my back against the wall, gasping and panting and hoping the tears were going to stop soon.

"Ana?"

I opened my watery eyes and saw the blurred outline of Jack. He was standing outside his apartment, key in hand, preparing to go inside.

"Hi," I said, straightening up and wiping the tears from my face. "What's up?"

"Are you alright?" asked Jack.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, trying and failing to prevent the sniffles. "I was just saying good-bye to my apartment."

"To…your apartment?"

"We've been through some powerful emotional journey's together," I said.

"Even though you're rarely at home?" asked Jack.

I sighed. "The apartment and I have a deep understanding. We're not the kind of apartment and resident who have to be joined at the hip."

Jack frowned. "Are you moving from or breaking up with your apartment?"

I shook my head. "It's a relationship you wouldn't understand!"

For a second, jack looked confused. Then, the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile and he grinned at me. "Well, I'll miss my neighbor—even if you're rarely here. Where are you moving to?"

"Somewhere far, far away," I said.

"Oh."

"Don't worry," I said. "It means that we won't have any of these awkward run-ins where the elephant in the room is so large that it suffocates both of us."

"What elephant?" asked Jack.

"Don't play dumb," I said. "That's my job. The elephant of the fact that I used to think you were the cutest thing to walk the planet, but when I Skipped on our date you started ignoring me and when I tried to explain to you what had happened you called me a liar and avoided me and that hurt me more than either of us will ever know." I smiled at him.

"Oh." Jack frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm over it. I've come to realize that you're not nearly crazy enough for me. It is impossible for me to date a guy that cannot accept the fact that a girl can disappear and travel to a different world. That's like the number one criteria on my list. No. Actually it's number two. Number one criteria is that he's hot."

Jack made one of those WTF faces where the corner of his mouth her turned down and he kept looking in every direction except at me as he tried to figure out what I just said. "Okay…"

I bounded forward and patted Jack on the right cheek. "No worries. We're good. Have a nice life and don't forget about me—I'm Ana. I'm the girl just passing through."

I let out a bark of laughter and stepped past him. I practically flew down the last few flights of stairs and I didn't look back.

* * *

"This might very well be the last coffee I will ever have."

I held the steaming cup of black coffee in my small hands. I let it's warmth sink into my sink. I inhaled the heavy smell and felt comforted.

"I will miss you, my old friend. We have seen many an exam night together. We have seen many a dark morning together. We have brave the horrors of life together and we have survived them. I drink, now, as a toast to our long and substantial relationship." I lifted to hot drink to my lips and took a long gulp of coffee. I placed the cup back on the table. "Perfect."

"You're such a drama queen," said Bonnie.

"At least she knows how to appreciate coffee in style," said Raoul. He wiped his hands on his work apron and grinned. "I'm glad you came here for your possible-last drink of coffee."

"Well, I had to say good-bye to my work buddy, didn't I?" I said, grinning up at him.

"Where are you going?" asked Raoul.

"Somewhere far, far away," I said.

"That sounds like a fairytale," said Raoul, moving back to the coffee shop's kitchen. "Say hi to Shrek for me."

"Will do," I said, saluting him.

When Raoul had left, Bonnie, Nick, and Karen turned to me.

"So tell me why you have to go," said Nick.

"I'm not staying," I said.

"I never told you to stay. I told you to tell me why you have to go."

"Why do I have to tell you anything?" I asked. "Oh look! They have biscotti! White chocolate and almost biscotti! That's to die for! Excuse me while I go buy some." I started to get up, but Bonnie grabbed my hand and pulled me back to my seat.

"You just told us that you had to leave. You haven't given us a reason."

I bit my lip. "This might be my last day on Earth and you're going to deprive me of a white chocolate and almond biscotti?"

"_I'll_ buy your biscotti," said Karen. She got up and went to the counter, leaving me at the mercy of Nick and Bonnie. I wriggled uncomfortably in my seat.

"Explain," said Bonnie.

"You know," I said. "I haven't given you guys your parting gifts."

"Don't try and get out of it," said Bonnie.

"You got us parting gifts?" asked Nick eagerly.

Bonnie stepped on his foot. "Don't be so easily bought over."

"Firstly," I said, clapping my hands together. "I've decided to give Nick all my movies. My beloved _Phantom of the Opera_ and _Les Miserables_. All those beautiful musical moments."

"I don't fawn over Gerard Butler like you do," said Nick flatly. "I don't want your movies."

I ignored him and turned to Bonnie. "I've decided to give you my apartment."

"I have an apartment," said Bonnie.

"Yes, but mine is better." I sighed. "I cannot give my old pal to just anyone. What is some slut gets my apartment and starts doing it in my old kitchen with every old Jim she meets on the street."

"What are you talking about?" asked Bonnie.

"Wow, Ana," said Nick. "I never knew you had such a wild imagination."

"Shut it," I said. "I'm being serious here. My apartment means a lot to me. It's saw me through some rough times."

"You weren't even here for most of them," said Nick.

"The apartment and I had an understanding!"

Bonnie sighed. "I'll make a deal, Ana. I'll buy your old apartment if you tell us why you have to go back to Middle Earth. What do you have to do there?"

My eyes narrowed. I weighed out my options and, as Karen returned to the table with my biscotti, I said, "Fine. You'd better treat my baby well."

"Is she finally going to tell us?" asked Karen.

Bonnie nodded and Nick leaned forward as though that might help him hear better. All three of them gazed at me intensely, waiting on tiptoe for me to start talking.

I took my time. I dipped my biscotti into my coffee and had a bite—delicious. I took a sip of my coffee—even more delicious. I had another bite of biscotti. Man, I was going to miss the food. And the tampons. Then again, what girl wouldn't miss the tampons?

I sighed. "I told you the story before I got my surgery. I told you how Fili and Kili died. I saved Thorin's life and he got angry with me. I told you how Frodo and Sam were killed by Gollum."

"Yeah?" Bonnie nodded me onwards.

"I think the reason Frodo and Sam died is because Thorin lived."

"What?" Nick sat back in his chair. "What does Thorin living have to do with anything involving the Fellowship?"

"Do you want me to explain or not?" I asked.

"Shut up, Nick," said Karen, elbowing her boyfriend in the ribs. "Let the woman talk."

"You remember what happened when I brought Boromir to Ohio," I said. "Everyone died because Boromir was not there to stop the orcs. I had to bring Boromir back and Boromir had to _die_ to save the mission of the Fellowship. It had to happen. Some people are meant to die for the greater good. Boromir was willing to do that." I paused to take a sip of coffee. "I think Thorin is the same. I know he's supposed to die. Gloin almost told me at the Council of Elrond. I stopped Thorin from dying at the Battle of Five Armies and I think that's what caused Frodo and Sam to die this time. I think that his death is supposed to have a huge impact on Bilbo. But because Thorin did not die, it impacted Bilbo in a different way and, because Bilbo raised Frodo, it changed some small part of Frodo as well—and that's what caused Frodo and Sam to die."

Nick and Karen exchanged puzzled glances.

"How did you work all that out?" asked Nick.

"How can you be _sure_?" asked Karen.

I stared at my coffee. I could still see the thin steam rising from the mug. It danced about in the air for a moment before vanishing altogether. I glanced up at my friends.

"Because Thorin wanted to die."

An unsettling silence came to rest amongst us. At first, no one knew what to say. And then—

"You're insane. You are batshit insane." Nick's right hand shifted into a fist. "You're going to _let_ him die because he wants to?"

"Nick," said Karen.

"It's insane—and don't give me any of your usual—well, I can always Skip back and change it. You have no control over where you Skip. You have no guarantee that you can save him if that doesn't work."

"_Nick_." Karen placed a hand over his fist. "Nick, stop."

"Nick," said Bonnie. "There's something Ana's not telling us."

They all turned back to me and I swallowed. I took a sip of coffee and said the only thing I could have possibly said right then:

"You guys think I'm so terrible. You don't think _I_ think I'm terrible. The fact that I have to find the _person I love most in two worlds_ and make _sure_ that he _dies_—you think that has _no _effect on _me_? You think I _hate_ the Senturiel as much as I _hate_ myself right now? I would gladly jump off that cliff right now if it meant I could save Middle Earth and avoid Thorin's death, but _the world doesn't work like that_. My life doesn't work like that. And I get it. I get what I have to do. I get that I have to leave my family and friends and go to another world so I can let him die. And I know I won't be able to look at myself in a freaking mirror after that let alone see any of you ever again. I get it. I get it. So let me say good-bye to you while smiling and stop talking about what I'm about to do."

The looks on their faces were enough to shatter anyone's heart. I had to take another sip of coffee so I wouldn't have to look at them.

"Sorry," said Nick.

"You know we love you," said Bonnie.

"Am I the only one who noticed that Ana just said she loved Thorin?" asked Karen.

A slow smile spread on Nick's face. "Is my ship finally coming true? Are they finally realizing it?"

"Shut up," I said. "Our relationship is more complicated than that."

Bonnie laughed. "As in she loves him, but you calling it your 'ship' demeans the feeling of love she has for him so she doesn't want to own up to it."

"You people are stupid," I said. "Don't stick your definition of love on my feelings, why don't you?"

Nick leaned back in his seat and grinned at me. "I'm going to miss you, Ana."

"I'm going to miss you too," I said.

"You know what I'm not going to miss," said Bonnie. "Those awkward moments on a shopping trip where I'm talking to you about my life and I turn around and you're no longer there because you've Skipped away and in your place is this old woman who is staring at me like I'm crazy because I'm talking to thin air."

Karen laughed. "I've had those moments."

"They suck," said Bonnie. "So embarrassing."

I grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

* * *

I made sure the bathroom was empty. No one in any of the stalls. Then, I turned to face the mirror. A short, scrawny blond girl stared back at me. Her blue eyes were pink and puffy and the nostrils of her small nose were inflamed by the constant Kleenex use.

I had seen this girl in the mirror many times before. Sometimes she looked tired. Sometimes she looked wild. Sometimes she looked wet. Sometimes she looked sunburned. Sometimes she was smiling. Sometimes she was crying. This girl in the mirror—she was my constant companion and I knew her well. So why did I believe that she was capable of this? Why did I believe she was capable of watching Thorin die? What right had I to do this to her? This girl who was on the verge of tears even now—who was I to break her any more.

My chest was hurting.

I reached out a hand and clutched the locket around my neck. The girl in the mirror did the same thing.

"Hey," I said.

The girl in the mirror moved her lips in time to me, but no sound came out.

"Hey," I said again. "We'll get through this."

I traced the locket's design with my thumb.

"It will work. We're doing the right thing. Thorin will forgive us. He has to."

I thumb flicked over the locket's clasp and it swung open. I lifted my head and grinned at myself in the mirror.

"Come on, girl. In your dreams, you go cliff driving while wearing a red dress. This isn't anywhere near as crazy as that."

(We'll ignore the blatant lie right there. I was trying to cheer myself up. Self-illusionment is a given.)

"Take me to the right place this time, please." I closed my hand over the Senturiel.

Skip.

* * *

**Review?**


	76. Add A Little More To The Plate

**Chapter LXXVI: Add A Little More To The Plate**

"God damn you, Senturiel." I held the locket out and glared to its contents reproachfully. "I told you to bring me to the right place!"

I was getting some weird looks from the passing hobbits. Some of them actually went out of their way to avoid coming within five feet of me. There I was, in the middle of Hobbiton on a cobblestone road, being avoided by creatures a good foot shorter than me. It was a high moment in my life, let me tell you.

"Ana!"

I turned around and saw the bright-eyed Rosie. Her curls were bouncing up and down against the back of her dark green dress as she bounded along the road to my side.

"Hey," I said. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Not since Bilbo and Frodo's birthday party." Her smile was practically a ray of sunshine. It was blinding. I should have brought a pair of sunglasses with me. Damn. How come I only think of these things after the fact.

"How've you been?" I asked.

Rosie took a deep breath and smiled. "Things have changed in Hobbiton since you last saw us."

I frowned. "What's happened?"

"Mister Frodo has left Bag End and taken Sam with him."

I faked a gasp. I think it came out more dramatic and over-the-top than I intended because Rosie gave me a peculiar glance. "Where have they gone?" I asked.

"They were supposed to move Mister Frodo to a new home," she said. "But these cloaked men came and raided his new home and after they left, Mister Frodo was nowhere to be found. No one knows what happened to him. Or Sam."

"That's terrible," I said. I reached out and patted her shoulder awkwardly. "But I don't think you need to worry. Sam and Frodo are very capable hobbits. If nothing else, I'll make sure they return in one piece—even if I have to tie them up in a sack and drag them through mountain ranges. I promise."

She nodded and a crack of a smile appeared at her lips. "I am sure they shall return—especially with your help, Ana. But I should tell you that their departure is not all that has changed in Hobbiton."

"What else?"

"Someone has moved into Bag End."

I gasped. "Not the Sackville-Baggins!? Have they polluted Bag End? Have they driven it to the ground? I will have you know that Bag End once housed the most majestic being to ever live—that home should be a tourist attraction, not a dump belonging to those _Sackville-Baggins_."

Rosie shook her head. "They have not treated it with disrespect. Rather, they allowed someone else to move in."

"Who?"

"I have never seen him," said Rosie. "I have only heard rumors. But they call him Sharkey."

I snorted. "That is the stupidest name I have ever heard. That might even beat Legolas as a stupid name."

"Legolas?"

"Just think about it. Not only is it a stupid elf name, but it has the frigging word _leg_ in it. And the nicknames that come with it—Leggy, Leggikins, Legsy, Legolicious. You can even make Lego-My-Eggo jokes with his name. But _Sharkey_. I mean, that sounds like a five-year-old didn't know what to name his pet fish."

Rosie stared at me for a second, her mouth hanging open. Then, she sighed and said, "Do you care about the seriousness of the Shire situation? Do you care that he has taken over the Shire and forcing us to obey his will? The freedom and joy that once filled Hobbiton has been sucked away into Bag End."

"I do," I said. "I really do care. But I have a mountain on my plate right now—which involves a lot of war, battle, death, and creepy dark shadow that might be trying to acquire this magic rock—and about the only thing I can handle right now is making fun of his name."

For a second, Rosie looked torn between two response. Then, she reached out and touched my hand. "You go do what you need to do. This is something us hobbits must take care of."

I grinned. "And this is why you're the perfect girl for Sam. Make sure I get an invite to the wedding."

Rosie's face turned bright red. I removed my hand from hers and caught hold of the locket. I snapped the clasp open and the red Senturiel glittered in the sunlight. I closed my hand over the rock—felt the cool stone against the palm of my hand—and muttered, "Work with me here, Senturiel."

Skip.

"Nazgul!"

I released the locket and groaned. "Great. We really need to work on our communication skills here, Senturiel. I want to go to Thorin. I want to go to the Battle of Five Armies. Come on here. Work with me!"

"Ana? _Ana_! Watch out!"

I spun around and—from out of nowhere—Faramir darted out from behind the ruins of white column. He tackled me to the ground just in time to avoid the black claws of a fell beast scooping me up from where I stood.

My head cracked on the hard ground. I groaned and rolled onto my stomach. Faramir leapt to his feet and drew his sword. An orc lunged at him and Faramir blocked the attack. He drove the sword through the orc's throat. The orc collapsed onto the ground next to me. I sat there, gasping and panting for a minute, before I looked up at Faramir. His face was covered in a thin layer of sweat and there were shadows under his eyes like he had not slept in a good, long while.

We were in Osgiliath—in case you were wondering—when it was being attacked by the Nazgul and the armies of Mordor. The Senturiel has great timing, you know. It loves to keep me out of harm's way and place me in a safe, comfy positions where I get to eat and sleep and chat with friends. (Note the sarcasm.) I think the Senturiel holds grudges at me for eating it when I was five.

"What are you doing here, Ana?" asked Faramir, exasperated.

"You still ask that question?" I got to my feet, careful not to touch the dead orc. "Even now, you still ask that question?"

"I ask out of habit," said Faramir.

"Oh." I brushed some dirt off my pants. "Well, I've got to go."

Faramir frowned. "Are you going to jump off a cliff?"

"Me? No, no. I found out that I ate the Senturiel back when I was five and it's been in my stomach this whole time. So I got the Senturiel surgically removed and now I carry around in this locket that Thorin gave me because the Senturiel conveniently fit in the locket. Don't you love it when things work out so well?"

Faramir squinted at me. "That sounds suspicious?"

"What?" I cried. "Suspicious? I think it sounds perfectly logical."

Faramir frowned. "Is this more of your—what do you call it?—sarcasm?"

I was saved from having to give Faramir a reply by the arrival of a group of orcs. Faramir became preoccupied with trying to stay alive, so I took advantage of that opportunity to Skip again. I opened the locket an grabbed hold of the Senturiel.

Skip.

"Alright." I said, my eyes wrenched shut. "I'm going to count to three and when I open my eyes, I expect to be standing near Thorin in the Battle of Five Armies—understand?" I paused. Now that I had time to think about it, standing with my eyes closed in the middle of a battle did not seem like a good idea. I took a deep breath and said as quickly as I possibly could. "Onetwothree."

I opened my eyes.

I was not in the middle of the Battle of Five Armies.

"God damn it! This isn't funny! Work with me here!"

The Senturiel had dumped me in the ruins of an old fortress. I don't even know how to describe it. Image a fortress whose towers look like a bunch of stone spikes pointing to the sky. Now drape some cobwebs on those spikes. And a stormy, black sky overhead. Oh, and give the whole scene a chilly, eerie air. And that would be Dol Guldur.

Thanks a lot, Senturiel. You couldn't have picked a safer place to dump me.

Unfortunately, I had never been to Dul Guldur and I had no idea where I was. The haunted atmosphere, apparently, didn't clue me in that I was in a dangerous place. Instead, I went on ranting to the Senturiel about proper manners.

"Okay, Magic Rock," I said. "I don't like you and you don't like me. I think we've established that. Alright. But we can't act like children. We need to set aside our differences and work for the greater good. The gods must have given you to the men of the Numenor for a reason. I have no idea what that reason is, but my gut tells me that you and I were supposed to meet. Which means you're supposed to help me. Which means—_don't Skip me to creepy places_."

An icy, biting breeze swept through Dul Guldur. I shivered, but kept on talking.

"Alright. So now that we've got that sorted out, I am going to hold on to you again and you are going to Skip me to _Thorin_ at the _Battle of Five Armies_. Do you understand?"

Of course, the Senturiel didn't respond.

I snapped open the locket and—_crack_.

I don't know what told me to turn around, but some sliver of instinct jumped in my chest and I whipped around to see what was behind me.

A ghost. A ghostly king with a skeletal face, a thorny crown, and dark pits for eyes. He had none of the greenish glow of Raoulidor, but blazed like a white fire. Every ounce of his ghostly being screamed terror and agony. He held a sharp, white sword in his right hand. He reared up, ready to strike me. I screamed and fell backwards onto the cold, hard ground.

"Stop!" I screamed. "Stop! Stop! Stop! I know the king of ghosts! I know Raoulidor! He's my boyfriend—of sorts. Don't kill me! Raoulidor will not be happy!"

The ghost lifted his sword and prepared the strike again. I don't think he was affiliated with Raoulidor.

I reached up to my locket and found that the clasp had closed again. I was about to open it when a black shadow appeared behind the ghostly king. A scream erupted from my lips before I could control myself. I felt a wave of drenching fear wash over me. I wanted to curl with into a tight little ball and never let go. This black shadow. It wanted to _hurt _me. It wanted to destroy every cell of my being and it would laugh while watching me die. The terror was overwhelming. My whole body was trembling. I could barely clutch the locket in my fingers, let alone find the clasp to open it. The hooded figure was watching me. He lifted his head and beneath the darkness I could see a single red eye.

Skip.

The snap of bones. The howl of a warg. The clash of metal. The cry of pain. The silence of death. I was surrounded by the dead and dying. The ring of battle filled my ears. But, for once, I wasn't afraid of war. I was relieved. The dark figure was gone. The dark, hooded figure that controlled the ghost was gone. I was safe. Safe from his grasp. Even if I was surrounded by orcs and wargs and men and elves and dwarves—I was safe from the hooded figure.

An orc caught sight of me. He lunged forward, shifting the blade in his right hand. His black eyes glittered with the idea of killing me.

I reached down to my right boot and pulled out the Sword Breaker.

The orc let out a bark of laughter at the sight of my weapon. He snapped something taunting in his foul language.

I smirked. "Clearly, you have never met the Sword Breaker before."

The orc took a step forward—and was hit in the head with a wooden staff.

"God damn it, Gandalf!" I cried, rounding on the gray wizard. "Do you mind? I was actually going to do something productive."

With a flick of his sword, Gandalf finished off the orc. He turned to me, his blue eyes flashing in the light. "The day you do something productive, it will be the end of the world as we know it."

I shrugged. "The world's already ending, so you might as well give me a shot." I paused. "Where's Thorin?"

"I do not know," said Gandalf. He spun around and drive his sword through an orc's stomach.

"I need him," I said. "I would complain to the Senturiel but it actually listened to me this time."

"This time?"

"I wanted to get here and it brought me to Hobbiton and Osgiliath and…" My voice trailed off. "Do you know a hooded figure with red eyes that controls ghosts?"

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. His hand gripping his staff turned white as he gripped the staff tightly. "The Necromancer?"

"The what?"

"He calls himself the Necromancer, though that is not the name we know him by."

My heart dropped. "What name do we know him by?"

Gandalf glanced left and right (taking care of an orc while he was at it) before answering. "Sauron."

I choked. I had come face to face with Sauron. The frigging giant eye on top of the frigging giant tower in the middle of Mordor that has unleashed armies on my friends and caused some of my important people to die—I came face to face with him. I took a deep, shattering breath. My father had come face to face with him too. Or one of his minions. A dark shadow tried to take the Senturiel after my father stole it from the Dunedain. My father had Skipped before the dark shadow could take it. But had the shadow given up looking for the Senturiel?

"What does the Dark Lord want with the Senturiel?" I asked.

Gandalf's face paled slightly. "He does not know of the Senturiel's existence."

"Yes, he does," I said. "He heard me talking to it in the ruined fortress thing."

"Dul Guldur?"

"Sure. He overheard me talking to the Senturiel. And he tried to take it."

"You must have met him before the Council. The Council and I approached the Necromancer's home in Dul Guldur a few days ago. We drove out the Necromancer."

"Did you kill him?" I asked.

Gandalf shook his head. "He escaped."

"Where did he go?"

"I do not know."

A sudden wave of fear overtook me. I could have sworn I felt a cold breeze brush across me. I spun around, trying to see the Necromancer amongst the armies. There was nothing. Death was everywhere, but the dead stayed dead. Not ghosts rose from, their graves.

"He's coming," I said. "He's coming."

"He would not dare reveal himself here," said Gandalf. "He needs to recover his strength."

"No. No. No." I shook my head. "He's coming. He wants it bad." I took a step back and almost tripped over a dead body. "Why? Why does he want this thing?"

"It has the power to manipulate time and space," said Gandalf. "Sauron accomplish many things with that power."

"God damn it," I cried. "I have enough problems without a frigging Dark Lord on my plate!"

Gandalf frowned. "Ana?"

"First, I have to talk to Thorin. No, first I have to avoid the Necromancer. Then, I have to talk to Thorin. Then, I have to find Frodo and Sam. Then—what else? Crap. I don't even remember what's on my list! This is the worst feeling in the world! That feeling when you walk into a room and forget why you entered that room, but then you remember that you have a ten page essay due tomorrow and you haven't even started it yet, so you leave the room and when you finally sit down to begin that stupid ten page paper, you remember what you wanted from that room!"

Gandalf stared.

"I can't do this anymore!" I wailed. "I don't want a Dark Lord trying to get his hands on my frigging Senturiel! Can I just crush it to a thousand pieces and be done with this?"

Gandalf stared.

"I know, I know," I said. "magic rocks don't just get crushed to a thousand pieces. You have to throw them in a frigging volcano or something—because that's how we get things done in Middle Earth. We don't just crush things at home—no. We go on a cross-country journey full of perils to throw a _ring_ into a _volcano_! It crazy! You're crazy! I'm crazy! Crazy, I tell you!"

Gandalf stared.

I threw my hands up into the air and sat down in the back of a dead orc. "This is disgusting and I don't even care anymore, that's how crazy I am," I said. Then, I buried my face in my hands and took a deep breath. "I'm okay. I'm okay. Phew. I'm okay."

Gandalf stared.

I think, for the first and only time in his life, Gandalf had been struck dumb.

I feel accomplished.

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**A/N: Three chapters left of part one. I had some stuff I wanted to say, but I totally forgot. I have no idea what was going through my head while writing this chapter, so it might suck. Sorry. It's a plot chapter. **

**Please review. It's my goal to reach 2,000 reviews by the end of Part One. And we only have three chapters left. O.O**


	77. Going On A Thorin Hunt

**A/N: _Going on a Thorin Hunt! (Going on a Thorin Hunt!) Gonna catch a big one! (Gonna catch a big one!) I'm not afraid! (I'm not afraid!) Are you? (Are you?) Not me! (Not me!)_ **

**There's more to that song, but I don't remember. It seemed a lot cooler when I was in girl scouts. Maybe it's some girl scout conspiracy where that song is only cool when you're in girl scouts. The second you're not in girl scouts, the song becomes lame. So people join girl scouts so they can sing the awesome bear hunt song. Yep. That's it. The fact that I'm ten years older now has nothing to do with the coolness of the bear hunt song. Absolutely nothing.**

**Yep. Please review. Because I love you and you love me and I'm going to leave you on a cliff hanger and you're going to hate me for it, but you'll want me to update sooner.**

**:)**

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**LXXVII: Going On A Thorin Hunt**

"Tell me what happened."

Gandalf spoke with urgency—I think. I wasn't really listening at the time. I was pacing back and forth around the dead body of an orc. Gandalf kept trying to capture my attention (in between fighting off orcs and wargs), but I was deep in thought as I tried to figure out my next move.

"The Necromancer is coming," I said. "He's not here yet, but he knows I'm going to be here."

"He is not coming," said Gandalf after whacking a warg in the forehead with his staff. "He is too weak. He will not risk exposure to try to acquire the Senturiel."

"I need to leave," I said. "If I Skip out of here then he won't find me. But I need Thorin. Or I could do that later. If I Skip enough, I'm bound to come back here, right?" I paused and stared down at the locket hanging around my neck. "Right?"

The Senturiel didn't respond.

Gandalf, however, did. "Ana. You must tell me the story of the Senturiel."

"Sometimes I wish you could talk." I stepped over the corpse's head. "But then I realize that you're probably a flamboyantly gay red, magic rock that would never stop talking once you gained the ability. So, I'm glad you can't talk. Because you would be a never ending headache. Not that you aren't already a never ending headache."

"Galadriel and the elves of Lothlorien have been searching for the Senturiel since the Second Age. If you can tell me how you acquired the Senturiel, we can figure out what to do to it." Gandalf paused to slice open the throat of an attacking orc. His chest heaved up and down with the effort. "Ana. You must turn over the Senturiel to the Council. We shall deal with it."

I sighed. "I swear, you've turned my life into this cheap TV drama and I don't appreciate it. I don't even have an epic opening theme song. Or do I? Can my opening song be something by the Black Keys? Maybe _Little Black Submarines_? Or just anything by the Black Keys. Senturiel? Can you use your magic powers to tell the Valar that I want my theme song to be majestic?"

"Are you even listening to me?" asked Gandalf.

"Or we could just have Thorin sing something," I said. "My opening song can always be done the band Majesty With Wings. That would be—dare I say it—majestic. Oh right, speaking of Thorin—where is that dwarf? I need to talk to him before the Necromancer gets here." I gasped. "Crap. I forgot. The Necromancer. How the hell can I save Middle Earth with the Necromancer chasing after me?"

"He is not chasing after you," said Gandalf. "The Necromancer was defeated at Dul Guldur. He fled south."

A shiver ran up my spine and I spun around. "He's almost here."

"He is not coming," said Gandalf.

I reached up and caught hold of the locket.

"Ana—you must not abuse the power of the Senturiel. Give it to me and I shall present it to the council."

I snapped open the clasp.

"Ana!"

Skip.

The battle at the Black Gate was ridiculously unfair. The size of Aragorn's army in comparison to the size of Sauron's army was laughable. As I stood amongst the thicket of the battle, I could not see the overwhelming difference in numbers, but I could feel it. I was surrounded by orcs. I could not see any men in Gondor armor or any of the Rohirrim in sight. It was me, Merry, and Pippin alone amongst massive orcs (and, in case you haven't noticed, none of us are particularly impressive in the height department—when I say _massive_ orcs, I mean that it was intimidating).

Though, I have to admit that Pippin and Merry were better at sword fighting than me. Not that I used a sword. But still, they'd improved a lot during their time in Rohan. However, even with our fighting abilities combined, we were being overwhelmed by the orcs.

One of them managed to slice open Pippin's shoulder. Another got my forearm.

"Careful!" I cried. "That's tender!"

"Do not talk! Fight!" shouted Merry.

"Merry! Pippin!" Who should come charging through the fray but the world's stupidest elf (AKA Captain Obvious). He was fighting with knives at close range. He leapt through the orcs and managed to come to our rescue. (Well, he came to rescue Merry and Pippin—I just happened to be there.)

"Legolas," I said in disgust.

(Merry stabbed an orc's hand.)

"Please, do not stare at me," said Legolas. "Your adoration makes me feel uncomfortable."

(Legolas drove a knife through the orc's skull.)

"Adoration!?" I cried. "Where did that come from?"

(I disarmed an orc with the Sword Breaker.)

"Eomer explained your feelings to me on our ride to the Black gate," said Legolas. "You have a romantic interest in me, but you are not sure how to express your feelings, so you lash out at me as a way of showing interest."

(Pippin stabbed the orc I disarmed in the stomach.)

"I'm throwing up in my mouth right now," I said. "That's ridiculous! Eomer is ridiculous! Where is that idiot? I'm going to kill him! I'm going to wring his neck and gut him with the sword breaker! Me—and an _elf_."

(Pippin and Merry were trying to suppress their laughter. Thankfully, an orc attacked them and they had to stop laughing while they killed it.)

"I hope you know," I said, glowering at Legolas. "That _I_ am one-quarter dwarf."

Legolas paused briefly before beheading an orc. "You are one-quarter _what_?"

"Dwarf. It explains so much, doesn't it? My shortness, my natural hatred of elves—why I could _never ever_ have _any_ romantic feelings for _you_. And that allergic reaction I get to you. I swear, every time I see you, I break out in hives."

"Hives?" asked Merry, dodging an orc's sword.

"These little red rashes on my arms. I swear it's that elven perfume."

"Elves do not wear perfume." Legolas scowled. "Eomer must have fabricated your feelings for his amusement."

(Pippin dodged an orc's short and stabbed it in the thigh. Legolas dealt the finishing blow.)

"He's a lying little horse lord," I said. "And I'm going to—"

It was red. Like fire. Burning. Burning. Burning. It was far away—on the other side of the Blake Gate on top of a black tower—and yet I could still feel its blazing heat. My skin broke out into a heavy sweat and I felt tears well up in my eyes as if they had been flecked with sizzling embers. I could see it. Far away. The Eye. It had seen me. The Necromancer—no, Sauron. He was Sauron in this timeline. He had found me again. And he wanted the Senturiel.

"Ana! Look out!"

Merry leapt between me and an orc. He drove his sword into the orc's stomach, while getting scraped in the fray.

I barely noticed the battle. I could not tear my vision away from the Eye. My breathing was coming in quick, raspy gasps. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again. Get away, I had to get away. Not fast. While I still could. Before he came. I had to get away.

Damn it, I _told_ Gandalf he was coming for me.

I reached up and flicked open the locket.

"Ana!"

Skip.

"Filthy girl has comesies, Precious. What should we do, Precious?"

I felt a wave of molted heat before I opened my eyes. I didn't have to see to know where I was—on the slopes of Mount Doom. I was standing behind a massive boulder and, kneeling on the ground next to me, was the slimy, filthy _Gollum_. His blood-shot yellow eyes were shaking as he gaze upon me. His sharp teeth gnashing together as he tried to figure out what to do with me. As I stared at him—that pathetic creature—all the fear drained out of me and I was filled with a sense of hate. Loathing, more like. This pitiful creature had _killed_ them. Frodo and Sam. All for that stupid Ring. And here he was, sitting on the slopes of Mount Doom, like there wasn't anything to worry about.

"She has it coming, Precious. Yes, yes, yes she does."

"Shut up," I said. "I don't want to be here." I glared at the locket around my neck. "Why don't you listen to me!?"

And then Gollum tried to strangle me.

He was strong for a little, bony thing. His hands closed around my neck like iron and, no matter how much I tried to squirm, I couldn't break his grasp. I choked and coughed and hacked and wheezed. Gollum wouldn't let go. I managed to swing my arm up and scratch the side of his head with my fingernails. Gollum let out a high-pitched scream and scampered backwards. I crawled away from him, taking deep, shattering breaths.

"You little shit!" I cried and then coughed.

"Argh!" Gollum leapt at me again. I kicked him in the stomach and he fell to the ground.

We stayed there for a minute. Me sitting with my legs extended in front of me and Gollum lying on his stomach, watching me through venomous eyes.

"We are almost there, Mister Frodo."

Sam's voice cut through the air like a sharp knife. Realization struck me. I had not landed in time after Gollum had killed Frodo and Sam, but before. Gollum had been _stalking_ Frodo and Sam when I appeared out of nowhere. _That's_ why he attacked me. He thought I was going to tell Frodo and Sam.

"_You_!" I cried. I gripped the Sword Breaker in my right hand. Gollum saw the blade flash and he scampered away. I caught him my the neck and pulled him backwards. He slammed into me. I lost my footing and we rolled down the slope of the mountain, slamming into each other.

We came into the view of Frodo and Sam. Sam turned around, slow under the weight of Frodo who Sam was piggybacking at this time. Their eyes grew wide at the sight of Gollum.

"Run!" I screamed.

Frodo slid off of Sam's back and Sam started sprinting up the slope. Frodo remained still. He watched with glassy eyes as Gollum and I tried to gouge each other's eyes out. Gollum's nails scraped across my cheek, leaving a bloody gash. I swung my find and made contact with his right eye.

"Mister Frodo!" cried Sam, turning around and seeing that his friend had not moved. "Frodo!"

"He is still here," said Frodo.

His chilled tone sent shivers up and down my spine. I tried to wrestle away from Gollum, but Gollum grabbed my shoulder and tried to bite me. I swung my hand up and whacked him in the throat in a desperate attempt to protect my shoulder.

"Mister Frodo!" cried Sam. "What are you doing?"

"He's going to eat me! Frodo!" I screamed. "Destroy it before he eats me!"

Frodo reached up and touched the golden ring dangling from his neck.

"What are you doing?" repeated Sam.

Frodo moved slowly. With ease. As though time no longer had any hold over him. It was a frightening thing. To not care was a frightening thing. He turned towards Sam and said, softly, "It is mine." He slid the Ring onto his finger and disappeared from view.

"No!"

I could feel it burning behind me. The red eye was suddenly, painfully aware of the Ring's presence. It saw us. It knew where we were. It was watching. Frodo, who wore the Ring—it could see him too. Even if we couldn't, the Eye could. Sauron knew where the Ring was and he wanted it.

Gollum and I had stopped trying to kill each other. We were sprawled on the ground, at first holding each other away, but as the intensity of the Eye grew, I realized we were holding onto each other for support. Terror caused tremors in all of us. Sam had turned a pure white and tears left tracks down his grimy face.

"Mister Frodo…" Sam choked on his words. "Stop. This is not you. This is the Ring. The Ring. Not you. Mister Frodo, do not let it control you. Mister Frodo?"

Whether Frodo would overcome the Ring or not, we would never find out. A shadow descended upon us. Accompanied with the scream of a fell beast, the Ring wraiths came down from the sky.

The fell beast's cry was painful. My body contorted on its own as I squirmed around, trying to escape the agony. I covered my ears. The pain would not stop. It felt as though my head would burst to pieces. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Make it stop. The wraith landed and drew his sword. Pain. Ah. Pain. Pain. The sword penetrated Frodo's chest, his pale fale flickered under the light. Pain. Pain. Make it stop. Make it stop.

I reached for my chest.

Skip.

"God, damn it, why can't I save them?" I buried my face in my hands and tried to take deep breath. Calm. Calm. I needed to be calm. They had died again, but I could save them. I could always save them. Calm down, Ana.

I lifted my head from my hands and saw that I was in the Houses of Healing. Actually, I was in a marble courtyard outside the Houses of Healing. The courtyard was empty except for me and two lovers standing at the edge of the courtyard, overlooking the city. They were wrapped in each other's arms, their sorrowful backs to me and their faces turned towards the black sky of Mordor.

I wiped some sweat from my forehead and took a deep breath. Calm. I could save Frodo and Sam. I just had to focus. I couldn't get sidetracked. I had things to do. Depp breath. Easy now. Where was that perky smile? I stretched my lips into and sappy grin and stepped forward towards the lovers. "Sorry for interrupting your date. I'm just passing through."

The lovers turned around. My heart missed a beat. Faramir and Eowyn.

"Oh snap," I said. "I should have known it was the two of you. I saw your relationship coming from a mile away, by the way. And if anyone asks, I set you two up."

Faramir and Eowyn frowned. They exchanged bemused glances before turning back to me.

"You were not present for our introduction," said Eowyn.

"I set you up," I said flatly. "I want credit for _someone's_ romance and I'm claiming yours. No questions asked."

Eowyn opened her mouth to protest, but Faramir rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Agree with her now and it will save you the headache," he said.

Eowyn managed a soft smile before turning back to me. "What are you doing here, Ana? I thought you had left."

"I changed my mind," I said, cheerfully. "I missed my Faramir too much and I had to come back. Oh, and you. I missed you too."

She gave me a skeptical look before saying, "The others have left."

"To the Black Gate," I said. "I know, I was just there. It wasn't pretty. Legolas was still alive." I sighed dramatically. "I mean, if Sauron was _really_ evil, he would kill of Legolas. All his fangirls would die of shock. Could you call it mass murder? Sauron kills of thousands of village maidens after murdering pretty boy elf? I think that would permanent seal his position as Evil Overlord—don't you?"

Eowyn was gawping at me while Faramir sighed.

"There was a reason you were such good friends with my brother," said Faramir, shaking his head.

Thinking of Boromir made me think of his death which in turn made me think of the reason Boromir had to die which made me think of one of the reasons Thorin had to die which made me think of Thorin which made me happy and sad all at once.

"I have to go," I said.

Faramir and Eowyn were taken aback by my radical change in attitude. I went from super perky to super gloomy. I'm pretty sure they started to wonder if I had a bipolar disorder.

"So soon?" asked Eowyn, stepping forward. "You only just arrived."

"I have to go," I said again. "Come on, you can do it. You can't just stand here and wait for the end of the world."

"What?" asked Faramir.

I slapped my hands against my cheeks. "Alright, Ana. You are the Skipper. You've been doing this your whole life. What's one or two more Skips into danger? Come on. You've been in far more dangerous situations than this. It's not like this time you've not going to instinctively Skip because the Senturiel is no longer inside of you." I slapped my face again. "Stop it. You're doing this. You resolved to do this. Understand? You're doing this."

"Is she, um, talking to herself?" asked Eowyn.

"Alright!" I cried, clapping my hands together. "Thorin. I want to see Thorin—do you hear me, Senturiel? And no running away this time. Even if the Necromancer shows up. Even if I'm begging you to let me out of there—I need to see Thorin. Even if I'm screaming in pain as the Necromancer tortures m—okay. Scratch that. If I'm screaming in pain as the Necromancer tortures me, you'd better get me the _hell_ out of there, Senturiel."

"Necromancer?" Faramir's voice wavered slightly. "Where is a necromancer?"

"I got this. I got this. I am a strong, beautiful butterfly. I got this."

I opened the locket.

Skip.

"THORIN!"  
The bar went very quiet. Men stopped in the middle of their conversations, ales half-way to their lips. They turned and stared at me, their eyes narrowed confusion.

I looked around the bar, but saw no dwarves.

"Wrong place," I said.

Skip.

"THORIN!"

No answer. The trees of Lothlorien remained silent. I shivered underneath then and glared reproachfully at the tree tops where I was certain some elves were watching me and trying to figure out where I had come from.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm going. I'm going."

Skip.

"THORIN!"

Nope.

Skip.

"THORIN!"

Nope.

Skip.

"THOR—AAAAAAAAH!"

Skip.

"THORIN!"

Definitely not.

Skip.

"THORIN!"

"Ana—_shut up_."

I stopped just as I was reaching for my locket again. My jaw hung open with surprise. There he was. Right in front of me. In all his majesty. Thorin. My Thorin. With his majestic beard and his majestic blue eyes and his majestic fur coat and his majestic armor and his majestic boots and his majestic nose and his majestic sword and his majestic—let's just say he's really frigging majestic.

You'll be proud to know that I didn't cry at the sight of Thorin. I just flung my arms around him in a big hug.

"Ana!" he said, pushing me away. "We are in the middle of a battle."

"But I found you!" I cried. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I went to Lothlorien and to an elven party and I almost got trampled by a moose and I went to Gondor and they tried to arrest me again and I went to Mirkwood with these two spiders—ah that was nasty!"

Thorin wasn't listening to me. He was busy killing orcs and wargs and trying to stay alive.

"Thorin!" I cried. "Wait! We have to talk about how you know—"

A chill ran down my spine and my clothes rustled in the icy wind. I felt something on the back of my neck prickle. I spun around and found myself face to face with the hooded figure, his red eye staring at me with intensity.

The scream died in my throat.

Thorin shouted something unintelligible.

The Necromancer reached for the locket.

My hand grabbed it and wrenched the clasp open.

I felt the icy fingers touch my exposed hand.

Skip.


	78. The Farewell That Should Never End

**A/N: This chapter... _  
_**

**Please review. This is the SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER OF PART ONE.**

**Please, for the love of all that is majestic, review. **

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**Chapter LXXVIII: The Farewell That Should Never End**

Cold hands were at my throat, scratching and grabbing. My hands curled against his and I tried to push him away, slapping in the desperate attempt to stop him from touching me. Every contact—skin to skin—sent chills down my spine and made me want to throw up the contents of my stomach—anything to purge me from this feeling of corruption that seeped from his skin.

His fingers reached for my face. I pushed back, lost my balance, and rolled down a mountain of gold and silver. I rolled and rolled, the ringing of metal on metal filling the air, which came to an end only after I slammed into the stone ground.

The shock of the impact vibrated through my bones. I lay there for a second and the rolled onto my back. The Necromancer stood over me, his black cloak swaying from side to side. (Somehow, despite our fighting and Skipping, he managed to keep his hood up. I'm impressed. Maybe he glued it in place or something.) Well, I wasn't thinking about that at the time. At the time, I screamed and scampered away as fast as I could.

The Necromancer leaned down and grabbed me by the back of the shirt.

A long, deep moan filled the hall. The Necromancer and I froze in place—I was on all fours trying to crawl away and he had half lifted me from the ground using one hand (I can't think of weirder position for us to be in…)

The pause gave me time to register where in Middle Earth we actually were. The grand hall. The mountains of gold. That sleepy yawn.

Shit. We were in Erebor. And not just any Erebor—the Smaug-ruled Erebor.

From the piles of gold, silver, and gems, emerged the massive red head of Smaug. He was the same as always. The same blood red scales. The same fierce yellow eyes. The same _large_ teeth.

I screamed.

The Necromancer dropped me on the ground.

"Ouch!" I cried, leaping to my feet. "Easy there! I don't care if you are the frigging Necromancer—that's no excuse not to have manners."

The Necromancer turned and stared at me. His red eyes flashed under his hood.

I paled as I realized what I had just said. "Or, you know, you can hit me as many times as you want," I said, covering my face with my hands. "Just don't kill me. I'm too young to die."

I swear, if Smaug hadn't noticed us right then, the Necromancer would have killed me on the spot. Thankfully, Smaug stood upright, filling the entire room with his massive presence. He caught sight of me and, in a deep, rumbling voice, Smaug said, "You have returned."

I glanced at the Necromancer. He didn't seem frightened by the presence of the dragon. It's hard to tell with his hood up, but he seemed more amused by Smaug's. As if it was a pleasant surprise.

Smaug didn't seem to take much notice of the Necromancer either. His large, yellow eyes focused solely on me and I shifted uncomfortably beneath his glare. Smaug's focus on me made the Necromancer focus on me and all of a sudden, I was the center of attention an as much as I usually enjoy being the center of attention, this was not one of those situations where it was a good thing.

"Don't worry," I told the Necromancer. "I'll handle it."

The Necromancer was either very angry by the notion that I could handle something he couldn't. Either that or the thought amused him. I'm not quite sure which.

I turned to Smaug and gave him a huge smile. "Hey, man, what you doin'?"

"I am deciding how to eat you," said Smaug.

My face paled a little. (Just a little, mind you.) "There's no need for that. We're all friends here…Smaugiwogkins."

If the Necromancer wasn't supposed to be the all-powerful overlord, I'm pretty sure he would have facepalmed. Of course, being the all-powerful overlord that would soon throw Middle Earth into yet another terrible war meant that the Necromancer could not stoop to level of facepalming, let alone the level of associating with me. Maybe that was why he was wearing a hood…

"I think I will roast you," said Smaug.

"I think I'm more of a sweet and sour girl," I said.

Smaug frowned. (I don't know how dragon's frown, but whatever he was doing with his face, it was frowning.) "What is this method you call sweet and sour?"

"Oriental," I said. "I can't really teach it to you since I suck at cooking, but you should spread your wings and fly over there, learn Oriental cooking from the masters, and then fly back to cook us. We'll still be here." I nodded earnestly. "We'll be waiting here patiently for you to cook us."

I think Smaug was questioning my sanity—the Necromancer certainly was.

"Do you think me stupid?" asked Smaug, his deep voice rumbling through the hall.

"No," I said. "I think you're incredible talented at cooking. Don't you?" I turned to the Necromancer for agreement.

He stared at me in silence.

"You're a terrible wingman," I said. (Did I really call the Necromancer my _wingman_? Oh God, I _am_ insane.)

Smaug opened his jaws, revealing rows upon rows of yellow, pointed teeth. I had met Smaug enough times to know what he was planning. I screamed, spun around, and stared sprinting in the opposite direction. I did not get far before the Necromancer caught hold of my arm. I screamed again and tried to claw off his face. The Necromancer yanked my arm away from him. Smaug let out a stream of fire.

I grasped the locket as I tried to wrestle out of the Necromancer's grasp.

Three…Two…One…

Skip.

We were standing between the wooden wall of a tavern and the fencing of a horse stable. A light rain was falling, glittering in the dim light of the windows. My feet shifted uneasily on the slippery ground.

I slapped the Necromancer's hands away and stepped backwards. Mud sloshed around my boots. Great. I'd have to clean them sooner than I thought. I brushed some damp blond hair out of my eyes.

The Necromancer staggered slightly, looking left to right. He wasn't used to Skipping. Ha! There was something I did better than the Necromancer! I could Skip better than he could. Which isn't saying much. Because, you know, he's never Skipped in his life. And I've been Skipping since I was six… But we're not counting that. I'm better than the Necromancer at something!

My boasting rights didn't last long. The Necromancer recovered. He drew the sword at his side and lunged forward, the rain formed droplets on the blade.

I screamed. "Stop! Stop! I thought we had a bonding moment! Smaug tried to kill us! We were allies with a common enemy! We were _bonded_!"

Apparently, the Necromancer didn't understand the concept of bonding. He swung the sword back, preparing the behead me and I did the single craziest thing I have ever done—I tackled the Necromancer.

I know, I know, you're thinking—what? Ana never does anything that bold! Usually she just runs away screaming—And I admit, all that is true. But, after years and years of running away, I learned something. Running away almost never helps. It may have taken me sixteen years, but I learned to do something offensive. I tackled that _damned_, _treacherous_ Necromancer. And then, while he was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on, I caught hold of the locket.

Skip.

Have you ever been in an awkward position with one of the most evil overlords of all time? Awkward how? Awkward as in you're lying on your back on the forest floor and the evil overlord is lying on top of you—the kind of position where, if some stranger happened to come along, it would see as though you and the evil overlord were doing inappropriate things.

"Get off of me!" I screamed, kicking the Necromancer in the stomach.

He didn't get off of me. Instead, he lifted his head and reached out. He grasped my throat and held on tight, slowly tightening his gasp so that my breaths became smaller and smaller. My throat was burning on fire. I looked up and all I could see was the Necromancer's blood red eyes.

I was going to die. It was going to happen. I'd avoided Smaug only to be suffocated by this traitor. I thought we had a _moment_. And now he was trying to kill me. Well, I suppose that's an accurate summary of any relationship I've ever had in my life. God, that's depressing…

What? Oh, right! Where was I? Oh yeah, I was dying.

I didn't die. In case you wondering. Though, maybe I'm tell this story as a ghost. Maybe I'm at the gates of Heaven explaining why they should let me in. Or at the gates of Hell explaining why they _shouldn't_ let me in. Maybe you're not actually you but an angel or demon in disguise. Are you an angel or demon in disguise?

No?

Okay. We're good then.

I'm alive.

I survived the Necromancer's attempt to strangle me because of spiders. It was _disgusting_. One moment, I was not-so-peacefully dying at his cold fingertips, and the next, a pair of spiders had dropped down from the trees onto the back of the Necromancer's head.

Huge, hairy, leathery, leggy black spiders.

The Necromancer's grip on my throat disappeared. Black legs were everywhere, In my face. In his face. On my arm. On his back. In his hair. In my eyes.

I think my response was something along the lines of: "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF ME! GET IT OFF MEEEEEEE!"

I actually punched the Necromancer in the face in order to get away from the spiders.

He fell off of me and I jumped up, trying to brush the icky feeling away.

Spiders were everywhere. Not just the two on top of the Necromancer, but hundreds and thousands of giant black spiders were descending from the trees, their legs moving and wriggling.

"That's nasty!" I wailed. "Nasty! Ew! Who Skipped me here? I'm going to _kill_ you, Senturiel! I'm going to throw you into a frigging volcano! Die! Die! Die!" I caught hold of the Senturiel and tried to throw it from my neck.

Skip.

"I'm going to _kill_ you! I'm going to take a knife and drive it through your stony heart, I _swear_. Urg I'm—"

"Are you talking to me?"

I stopped trying to strangle a rock and looked up. I was no longer standing in the middle of Mirkwood forest surrounded by spiders and the Necromancer. In fact, the Necromancer was nowhere to be seen. I was back at the Battle of Five Armies on a ledge. I was sandwiched between the dead body of a warg and I wall of stone, which concealed me from the view of the full battlefield. Thorin was in a similar spot, fighting two orcs at once and driving his blade through one of the orc's chest. He paused just long enough to glare at me.

"I found you!" I cried, pointing at him.

Thorin beheaded the second orc and turned to me. The warg's corpse concealed us from the battle and no one came rushing to try and kill Thorin.

"You are not trying to kill me, then?" asked Thorin.

"As if I could," I said, waving away his comment.

"True." Thorin nodded. He paused for a second, a brooding shadow crossed over his face. "Where did you go?"

"When? I go a lot of places."

"You Skipped with the hooded man."

"The Necromancer," I said. "The Senturiel took me to Mirkwood and there were spiders and I ditched him."

"You are in one piece, then?"

"Yep."

The longer I looked at Thorin, the darker my mood got. He was tired from the battle. Dark, bruising shadows had formed under his eyes and there were a few scratched and cuts on his majestic face. His blue eyes seemed to be filled with a constant brooding, even when he was fighting. I could not suppress the rolling feeling in my stomach that seemed to translate to fear. I think, I think Thorin was shutting down.

"You know, don't you?" I said.

"You saved my life already, then," said Thorin. His face was grim. "I told you not to."

"Have you fought Azog yet?" I asked.

"No."

"You're going to," I said. "And you're going to win."

"And then a warg is going to kill me," said Thorin.

I opened my mouth and then closed it. My chest had never felt so tight. I thought my ribs were knitting together, trying to form a barricade around my heart and lungs against the outside world. My chest was getting small and smaller. I could barely breathe.

Stop. Calm. I took the time to breathe in. Pause. And then breathe out. Breathing was important. I needed to breathe to live.

'Thorin," I said. "I have to talk to you."

"We are talking right now," said Thorin.

"How do you know?" I asked.

Thorin frowned. "Our mouths are moving and sounds in the form of words are coming out. Of course, we are talking."

"Not that," I said. "How do you know that you are going to die?"

"I have to die," said Thorin. "In order to save Frodo and Sam, I have to die."

A jolt ran through my body. I probably would have lost it then and there if simple curiosity had not kept me going. "But _how_ do you know that? I would never let you die if you don't _know _that your death would save Frodo and Sam. How do you _know_?"

"I know," said Thorin. "But I cannot tell you how."

"Arg!" I cried. I pounded my fist against his shoulder (I intended to vent my frustrations, but my hand hit his armor and it hurt me more than it hurt him. Damn it, Thorin!) "Why? Why? Why? Why do you have to do this to me? I won't let you die unless you _know_?"

"I know," said Thorin again. "Trust me, I know."

I stopped trying to hit him and just rested my fist on his shoulder. "You're stupid. You think _I'm_ stupid? You're stupid. Everyone told me I was crazy. They said the connections made no sense. I was just going to let you die because you lived when you weren't supposed to and then Frodo and Sam died. Again. They said there wasn't a connection—but you _knew_ you were supposed to die. Just as you knew to get me this locket because the Senturiel would fit inside it perfectly. You knew. And you were ready to die because of that. Because you _knew_ your death caused Frodo and Sam to die. You're _supposed_ to die. You know that if I let you die then the Ring will be destroyed. How do you _know_?"

Thorin shook his head.

"How do you _know_?"

He reached out a hand and rested it on top of my head. It was warm against my skin.

"I am psychic," said Thorin.

"What!?" My eyes grew really wide. And then I paused. Thought about it.

"Hey!" I cried, pushing Thorin away. "What the hell? Don't frigging make stuff up!"

Thorin smiled, though there was a touch of grimace in his mouth. "Azog is coming."

"Stop!"

I tried to catch hold of him, but Thorin moved away. His grip on his sword tightened and he lifted it into the air. His blue eyes flicked from side to side, constantly aware. He was waiting. I don't know how he saw anything over the massive corpse of the warg, but somehow, Thorin knew that Azog was coming. (Oh wait. Probably due to his _psychic_ ability. Blah!)

"He's not coming," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Stop talking," said Thorin.

"You're just trying to get out of having this conversation with me, aren't you?" My eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"You are irritating."

"Don't go changing the subject!" I stormed over to Thorin's side. "You look stupid standing there with your sword and there's no one to fight."

"Thorin Oakenshield, we meet at last."

The deep, gravelly voice of Azog cut through my words. I turned around and saw him standing on the deceased warg's back. His legs were in a wide stance and his bald head seemed even paler in the sunlight. He was uglier than I remembered, his thick face swollen and pudgy.

"Well, I'll be damned," I said, staring up at Azog in surprise. "You were right, Thorin."

"I know," said Thorin, not taking his eyes off Azog. "You should move."

"Why?" I asked.

Azog picked that moment to leap down from the Warg's back, his sword flashing, and tried to cleave Thorin in half. Thorin leapt out of the way at the last second. Azog didn't give Thorin time to breathe. He swung his sword again, this time barely missing Thorin's beard.

"Look out!" I cried, lifting my hands to my face. "Don't harm that majestic beard!"

Azog ignored me and proceeded to try to kill Thorin. Thankfully, Thorin had regained his footing and was now trying to kill Azog back. They ran around the dirt, blades swinging and voices shouting. Dust flew everywhere. Sweat beaded both their foreheads. They would grunt, their blades would meet, and then they would separate. Both panting hard.

"Kill him, Thorin! Kill him!" I cried. "Hurry up and kill him so we can get back to our conversation!"

Apparently, Azog thought my cheering was annoying. He paused in the middle of trying to dissect Thorin and tried to take a chunk out of me with his sword. I screamed and ran to hide behind Thorin.

"That's cheating!" I cried. "Thorin—why aren't you doing your job?"

Thorin sighed. "You do realize that after I kill Azog, we will be closer to the time of my death."

My heart stopped. I stepped away from Thorin and crossed my arms. "Why do you have to be all depressing like that?"

"You were in my way."

Thorin stepped forward. Azog brought his sword down at the same time Thorin brought his sword up. Thorin stepped past Azog's blow and his own sword slashed opne Azog's stomach. Azog let out a scream of agony. He feet wavered beneath him, but he managed to straighten up. Before the orc could recover, Thorin drove his sword through Azog's chest.

For a moment, it looked as though nothing had happened. Azog and Thorin faced each other. Both were breathing hard. Both were sweating. Both were covered in dirt and blood. It could have been the other way around, it could have been Azog who had stabbed Thorin, and there would have been no difference. But then, Azog's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body started to twitch, convulse, contort. Thorin yanked his sword out of Azog's chest and the orc crumpled to the ground like paper folding in on itself.

"That was anticlimactic," I said.

Thorin turned to stare at me, his blue eyes dulled with the memory of the future. "Was it? What were you expecting?"

"More explosions," I said. "Maybe a meteor."

A small smile flickered at Thorin's lips and a little life returned to his eyes.

"I thought we'd at least find out that his white warg was a double agent and she was working for the eagles this whole time."

"You are saying nonsense again," said Thorin.

"I know."

He smiled at me again, though, no matter how hard I tried, I could not get the tint of sorrow from his face. And then, he said, "We do not have much longer."

"Stop," I said, holding up a hand. "Stop. Stop. Stop."

"I am not going anywhere."

"Yes you are!" I cried, My hands dropped to my sides. "And that's the whole problem! I want you to stay here. Right _here_." I pointed violently at the ground next to me. "How am I supposed to make it through my life without you? Who is going to make sarcastic comments whenever I say something stupid? Who is going to put up with all of my insanity? Who is going to carry me when we're running away from orcs? Who is going to give me majestic therapy whenever all this Skipping starts to be too much? Who is going to understand me when I don't even understand myself? I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering why aren't you _here_?" I pointed at the ground beside me again.

Thorin wasn't looking at me. He was staring at his sword. It was covered in orc blood. I thought he was trying to figure out how to clean it rather than listen to my speech. But then, Thorin lifted his head and his blue eyes met mine. For the first time in a long while, there wasn't a hint of sadness in those blue eyes. He was smiling. Legitimately smiling.

I took a step back. "That's kind of creepy."

The smile dropped off Thorin's face and he sighed. "And that would be the reason why you never heard nice words come from my mouth."

"I don't get it," I said. "What were you going to say?"

"I am not telling you now," said Thorin.

"What? No fair! You have to say!"

"No."

"Tell me!"

"No."

"Please?"

"No." Thorin paused. He looked to his right, at the warg's corpse. His lips turned down in a scowled and he took a step nearer to the wall.

"What is it?" I asked, copying his movements.

"Soon."

My hands were shaking. They had been for a while, I just hadn't realized until right then. My whole body was shaking. I wanted to reach out, grab hold of him, and clasp the locket around my neck. We would disappear from here forever. We would Skip back to Earth and go live in the Bahamas or something. In a house on the beach. In my happy place.

"Do not even think about it," said Thorin.

I managed a weak smile. "You know me so well."

"You should go," said Thorin.

I blinked. For second, I didn't understand what he meant. Then, I glanced down at the locket.

"No," I said. "No. No. No. That would be cowardly. That would be awful. I can't leave you. I can't. No. No. No."

"No one would blame you," said Thorin. "For being cowardly in these situations."

"No."

It took Thorin three steps to cover the distance between us.

I think they were the three longest steps in either of our lives.

He wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pulled me into a majestic hug. He armor dug into my shoulder and my nose was squished against the cold metal.

I didn't care. I just wrapped my arms around him and held on for dear life.

"Are you crying?" asked Thorin.

"No," I said.

He grunted.

"You're beyond tears," I said.

"You are lying," he said. "You are not going to miss me at all."

"I can make myself cry. If that's what you want."

"No. I want you to go."

"I can't."

Right as I said that, there came a low growl. I could have looked and saw that white warg was crawling over the corpse of his brother. I could have looked and saw that his red eyes were hungry and his yellow teeth were gnashing together. I could have looked and saw the thing that killed Thorin. But I didn't want to.

Thorin released me. I took a step back and reached up and opened the locket.

The warg snapped at us.

I didn't care to look. I could only see the most majestic thing to exist in the universe.

Skip.

No matter how blistering the weather in Mordor, I felt cold. I felt like a leaf in the morning frost with ice tracing my black veins. I felt stiff, crumpled, and skeletal. I felt like a dead leaf blowing in the winter wind.

The world shifted in and out of focus.

I was standing on a raised boulder at the top of Mount Doom. I could see into the red mouth of the mountain and the two hobbits that were climbing. The rest of the world had become fuzzy in comparison to the majesty it had lost. My vision kept going in an out of focus.

Sam was carrying Frodo to the open mouth of Mount Doom, jagged rocks curving inward to devour the two hobbits.

The image blurred and then came back to life.

Gollum leapt on Sam's back. Frodo fell to the ground with a crack. Gollum slammed Sam's head against the ground and turned to Frodo. Gollum picked up a rock and approached the exhausted hobbit.

I couldn't even work up the will to help them.

Frodo kicked Gollum away. With the last ounce of his strength, Frodo got to his feet and staggered into the mouth of the volcano.

The world fell out of focus. In and out.

Sam followed Frodo. His shouts carried outside the volcano. Frodo had decided to keep the ring. Gollum had followed them.

I tipped my head up to the black sky. I should do something.

Frodo screamed. I think Gollum bit off his finger. Ew.

A hot breeze blew through my body.

Sam shouted. Frodo had pushed Gollum and the Ring into the volcano.

I closed my eyes. The world was burning. The very air was melting around me. I could hear the voices of the hobbits and the scream of the fell beasts. The volcano was shooting ash and molten lava streamed from its jaws. The world was rippling with overwhelming heat and burning with the scent of death. But I found myself plagued with the inability to care.

I was done.

So done with this shit.

I reached up and grasped hold of the locket. Slowly, carefully, I lifted the locket up, over my head, the burning chain hot against my neck. For a second, I held the piece of jewelry in my hand. The crafted gold chain and the flat locket crisscrossed with silver. I opened the clasp and stared down at the cursed rock. It glittered as red as the mountain fire.

I took a deep breath.

And hurled the fucking thing into the bubbling lava.

It rest on the surface for a moment and then sunk into the fire. It disappeared from my sight. Forever.

Breath in. Breathe out. I had never felt so free.

Though, when I had time to pause and think about it, I realized that probably wasn't the best time to get rid of the Senturiel. I could have waited until I wasn't standing alone on an island of a rock in the sea of lava that was streaming down the mountainside. Oops.

I sat down on the boulder and sighed. All there was left to do was wait.

Skip.


	79. And That Brings Us To The Present

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to YOU. To you who have read this story from beginning to end. Through all the ups and down. Through Ana's monkey phases and through Ana's mental breakdowns. To you who can stand all of her random rants and to you who put up with all my typos because I'm too lazy to proof read. To you who reviewed and told me how much this story meant to you. To you who haven't reviewed and this story still means a lot to you. **

**On second thought, I don't dedicated this chapter to you. I dedicate this story to you. Because I would never have made it this part without you. So thank you. **

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**LXXVIII: And That Bring Us To The Present**

After I Skipped away from Mount Doom sans Senturiel, I was disoriented. One moment—melting heat all around me, the world on fire, and I had no means of escape. I had embraced whatever came next with a lack of caring. It was a surprisingly nice feeling. The next moment—I was standing in a busy, muddy street.

My first response was to grasp the locket around my neck, but, of course, it wasn't there. My hang found only air. I checked my pockets and boots, but the Senturiel was nowhere to be found. Which meant I was stuck.

People were all round me, talking in excited voices, as the warm midday sun beat down upon them. A stable boy led two horses past me, their hooves sloshing in the puddles and their smooth coats flecked with mud. An old woman limped along the stone sidewalk, her rough shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. A group of middle aged women, gray hairs spotting their hair, chattered on the side of the street. A young man with a cap on his head squinted up at the sky before crossing the street. Children played a game with sticks, chasing one another through the crowds. A hobbit waddled along beside a tall, black-haired man, as they conducted business in low voices. Two men, dressed in black with swords strapped at their sides, moved towards a wooden door over which hung a sign with the words "The Inn Of The Prancing Pony" printed on it.

I was in Bree. I took a deep breath. I was in Bree. Alright. Of all the places to Skip to, I had Skipped to Bree.

Bree. The home of my father and my grandparents. Wow. I think the Senturiel is getting kind of sentimental.

Suddenly, the humor of the whole situations caught up to me and I was laughing. Not like a little giggle kind of laugh—full blow, booming laughter that caused everyone in the street to turn and stare at me, the crazy girl laughing to herself. (Whatever. It's a label I'm used to.)

If you're going to ask me how I Skipped without the Senturiel, I'm going to go right ahead and tell you—I don't know. I definitely threw the Senturiel into the lava. I didn't imagine that. The thought ran through my mind that maybe the stone left behind some sort of residue that would be in my stomach forever and ever. I wouldn't put it past my luck for that to happen. Or maybe the rock split in two in my stomach and the surgeon who operated on me missed the second half of the Senturiel. (Both ideas are kind of weird and ridiculous.)

I try really hard to figure out why I Skipped. Each answer I come up with is stupider than the last. And it's giving me a headache. And I've decided to just accept the fact that I Skipped away from Mount Doom and roll with it. I was in Bree now. I was just going to have to deal with that until the Senturiel decided to randomly Skip me somewhere else.

My laughter eventually died away and I found myself standing in the middle of Bree with a crowd of people who were still trying to decide whether to stare openly or just pretend I didn't exist. I smile and waved at them, which promptly made them choose the latter option.

Except for one woman who was carrying a shopping basket on her right arm. She was a rather large woman with round cheeks and a belly that protruded from her round body. Her brown eyes were warm with hospitality and curiosity and she smiled at me, not quite showing her teeth.

"You are not from these parts, are you?" she asked, stopping beside me on the street's edge.

"Is it really that obvious?" I asked, faking a gasp.

Her lips pulled back into a wide smile and she let out a choking laugh. "Yes, dear. Yes, it is."

"What gave it away?" I asked. "My unfamiliar face? My weird accent? My clothes?"

"The pants," she said. "I have never seen a woman wear mean's attire before."

I glanced down at my black jeans. They were splattered with dried mud in places and I think there was a blood stain above the right knee. Hopefully, no one saw it. I didn't feel like explaining that I was coming from the Battle of Five Armies.

"They're insanely comfy," I said, patting the pants. "Skirts give me a little too much breeze up there, if you know what I mean. Pants are easy to maneuver in and I don't have to worry about flashing anyone. I hate to say it, but men knew what they were doing when they started wearing pants—you should try it some time."

For a second, the woman seemed torn between laughing or looking scandalized. Then, a broad smile spread across her face and she let loose another choking laugh.

"You are quite the woman," she said.

"I'm Ana," I said. "Ana Stonbit."

She frowned and her eyes flickered upwards as she scanned her memory of any relatives. "Any relation to the Stonerows?"

"I don't think so…" (Though, I have no idea who my Middle Earth relations were. For all I know, I very well could be related to the Stonerows.) "I'm pretty foreign. Like, it's a whole other world kind of foreign."

"Ah, well." She shrugged. "My name is Elsa Finchwater."

"Nice to meet you, Elsa," I said.

"Nice to meet you, Ana," she said, a wide smile returning to her face.

"You…" I glanced around at the wooden buildings with straw roofs that lined the streets of Bree. "You wouldn't happen to know what time it is?"

Elsa didn't stop smiling. "It is around three in the afternoon."

"Ah, not that time." I scratched the back of my head and grinned sheepishly at her. "What _time_ is it? Like, what year?"

Elsa stared at me. Her lips opened and closed soundlessly. All traces of a smile was gone and she could only gawk at the strange, blond foreigner. I didn't stop smiling (I find people accept your strangeness more easily when you smile—then they can write it off as a joke.)

"It is the Year 2791," she said, finally. She pulled her basket of food closer to her chest. "I hate to leave, but I must get home. The children are waiting—"

I frowned. "What _age_ is that in?"

Her eyes went _really_ wide at that and she was practically running away from me as she called over her shoulder. "It is the Third Age."

She left me as fast as her legs could carry her, and I found myself standing alone in the crowded street yet again. I was still getting curious/frightened/WTF glances from passers-by.

"Jeez," I said. "It's like you people have never seen a crazy person before!"

I made my way across the street towards the Inn of the Prancing Pony. I think some small part of me still pictured Barliman Butterbur to own the Inn, even though he had not been born yet. Either way, the sense of familiarity drew me to the Inn. I crossed the street and moved towards the door—but something stopped me. My hand was extended toward the handle, ready to open up the door and step inside. But I stopped. I didn't touch the door.

Why, you ask. What stopped me?

Well, I'll tell you what stopped me. I saw you.

Not full you. Just a glimpse. I saw like a sliver of your face—the tiniest amount. You were turning away from me at the time, so I could really only see that little bit. But that little bit of your face was enough to alert me.

Slowly, I turned around. I don't know what I was expecting. I wasn't really expecting you to be you. I mean, that was just so unlikely. But I wanted to see your look-alike. They say every person in the world has someone who looks exactly like them—a doppelganger. And I was certain I had found your doppelganger. I turned around and saw you on the other side of the street and I swear you are one damn good doppelganger. I almost fell over right then and there, the similarities were insane.

And then, reality dawned on me. (I'm a little dense in case you haven't noticed.) That it was actually you standing on the other side of the street. Like, actually you. I couldn't breathe for about thirty seconds. I just sort of stood there, fanning myself, and trying to register that I was actually looking at you and not someone else. It was you. You. You. Albeit, a younger you, but still you.

And, I have to say, you were majestic even when you were fifty-years-old.

"Thorin!" I screamed. All that indecision of three seconds ago disappeared. I sprinted across the street and flung my arms around your neck.

You were very confused. I forgot that younger you did not know me. You stood there for a second, frozen in surprise. And then, the situation finally hit home. You tried to kill me with your blacksmith hammer.

I dodged you and pranced away, laughing giddily. (You probably thought I was insane.)

"Thorin!" I cried.

You stared at me like I was some sort of deranged mental patient.

"Okay, okay," I said. "I know this seems really weird right now, but I can explain. You see, you're going to know me in the future and we're going to be really good friends and I'm going to love you and we're going to go on all these insane adventures together so you can reclaim your home in Erebor and it's a really emotional time for us but we have a lot of fun."

I stood there, bobbing up and down on my toes and staring at you eagerly.

"You have the wrong person," you said.

"No, I don't," I said. "I would know you anywhere. I would know your majesty anywhere."

You stared.

"Okay," I said, holding up my hands and trying to slow myself down. "I'm going too fast for you. Hi. My name is Ana. We met in Erebor during Smaug's invasion. I am the little human girl you carried down the hall until you dropped me and you _think_ I died in Smaug's flames, but actually I Skipped. I do that, you see. One moment I'm here. The next I'm in a different time and a different place. Sometimes even a different world."

You stared.

"Oh, you remember me. I'm hard to forget. You may think I'm weird now, but you'll actually really like me in the future. Even though you're going to pretend you don't." I paused. "Or maybe you actually never liked me. Oh my God. I didn't even consider that option!"

"If you do not leave in five seconds, I _will _smash your head in with this hammer." You held up the extremely deadly–looking hammer for me to see.

"It's strange to see you so confused," I said. "Usually you know everything that's going on." I stopped. Something—I'm not sure what—clicked into place and I was beginning to see the whole picture. Things that hadn't made sense before were starting to make sense now. I stared at you. You are Thorin. But you are not my Thorin. You are going to become my Thorin one day, but not today. Today you are a stranger I met on the street who happened to save my life when I was six-years-old.

I took a deep breath.

"Let me tell you the whole story."

And then, after much persuasion on my part and many threats of smashing my head in with a hammer on your part, I managed to convince you to join me in the Inn Of The Prancing Pony for a drink. And that brings us up to present day.

* * *

Thorin sat opposite me. His arms were folded across his chest and his empty mug of ale was on the tabletop in front of him. As the day dragged on, the number of people drinking and talking in the Inn had dwindled. It would pick up again at night, but, for the time being, the Inn only contained the Innkeeper, Butterbur Senior, a couple if Dunedain who sat in the far corner and discuss dangerous matters, and a hobbit who worked at the Inn and was currently cleaning dishes. The story had taken a good few days to tell and, thankfully, Butterbur Senior had agreed to give me housing if I worked at night. Thorin, I found out, was working as a blacksmith in Bree—which meant I spent some of the days stalking him so I could watch him hammer away at a piece of metal. He's so majestic when he's working.

Thorin glowered at me from the other side of the table. I don't think he had decided whether or not to trust me yet. Though, he did put up with me long enough to listen to the full, ridiculously long story—so that was a good sign.

"You did not have to tell me the part where we met," he said. "It was three days ago. I remember."

"Yeah, but I love that part," I said, smiling to myself.

Thorin grunted. "Are you really descended from dwarves?"

The grin on my face widened and I nodded enthusiastically, my blond hair flopping everywhere with the movement.

Thorin sighed. "You are the shame of the dwarven race."

I nodded eagerly. "I'm part human and that took away all my majesticness."

"You are not supposed to agree with me," said Thorin.

"But I do." I laughed. "I knew what your response would be and I have been prepping myself for this moment ever since I found out. I'm descended from your favorite childhood dwarf. Flashcards and everything."

"Geirfast the Stone Biter." Thorin groaned. "I am going to need another drink."

I couldn't stop smiling. Thorin's face had that effect on me. Every so once in a while I would try to turn the smile into a frown (I figured Thorin would be more comfortable around a scowl), but my lips would start twitching and wouldn't stop until I was smiling again. I think I was starting to scare Thorin.

"Are you allowed to tell me the future?" asked Thorin, after Butterbur Senior handed him another pint.

"Usually, no," I said.

"And I am the exception?"

"Yes."

Thorin frowned. "Why?"

"I'm getting there," I said. "I'm still trying to enjoy the fact that you, majestic you, are right here. Right in front of me. You're so ridiculously right now that it's hard to believe that in one-hundred-and-fifty-years you will be _even more_ majestic than you are now. You're incredible. I hope that one day your majesticness will rub off on me and I shall have a sliver of majesty of my own."

Thorin stared at me for a moment. "You are strange."

"Oh, I know," I said, grinning. "It's one of my finer qualities."

"I would hate to see the rest of them." Thorin picked up his pint and took a long gulp of ale. "Are you going to tell me why I had to hear that ridiculously long story yet?"

"Not yet," I said. "Just a little longer. Just give me a little longer."

A silence stretched between us. Thorin sat there, taking long draughts of his drink and avoiding eye contact with me. I was leaned forward, my head propped up on my arms with my elbow resting on the table. I still had that stupid, soppy grin on my face, and I was watching Thorin's every little move. His majesty was overwhelming. How could the world survive without that majestic light? It was beautiful.

"Would you stop that?" Thorin slammed his drink on the table. "It is like you are in love with me. It is creepy."

"I'm not in love with _you_," I said, unable to wipe the grin off my face. "I'm in love with the future you. The you that you will become in one-hundred-and-fifty-years' time. You. I don't know you."

Thorin regarded me silently for a moment. Perhaps he was trying to decide what to say. Then, he pushed the chair out from under the table and started to get to his feet. "I am leaving."

"Wait!" I cried. I tried to grab his sleeve, but he pulled his arm away from me before I could catch hold.

"You are a leech," said Thorin.

"Wait!" I cried. "Don't leave me! I'll tell you! I'll tell you why I told you the future! Just sit down. Just sit down." The smile had disappeared from my face. "Just sit down."

Thorin stared at me. His face was stern and his attitude grim. He had not decided what to do with me yet. I stared up at him, my blue eyes wide and pleading.—like puppy dog. I needed him and he knew it.

"Fine." Thorin sat back down in the wooden chair and folded his arms. "Tell me."

I took a deep breath. In and Out. "You—You—You—you know how people hold Zombie Marches where they all dress up as zombies and walk around? Well, what if the Zombie Apocalypse started during a Zombie March? A zombie would come along and everyone would be like "Oh, cool costume man!" And then the zombie would bite then and they'd be like "Wow…This dude is really into it!" And they wouldn't know it was the Zombie Apocalypse until it was too late. Those Zombie Marches, they're a safety hazard."

I smiled at Thorin. He started to get up from his seat.

"Wait!" I wailed. "Let me try again! Let me try again! I can do it this time!"

"You have ten seconds," said Thorin. He was half-way between sitting and standing.

"Okay, okay, okay, okay," I said. "Here goes."

"Five seconds."

"Don't rush me!"

"Three seconds."

"You know how the Senturiel messes with people memories. Sometimes I meet them in the past when I've already met them in the future and it changes my future with them, but I don't remember the new future. Sometimes I meet people and they're met me in their past, but I don't remember it because our meeting occurs in my future. Well, the latter happened to Future Thorin."

Thorin, the present one, slowly lowered himself into his seat. "Go on."

I took a deep breath. "I didn't realize it at first. I knew Thorin knew that he was supposed to die in order for Frodo and Sam to live. He knew with certainly that was what was supposed to happened—and because he knew that, I could let him die. I just didn't know _how_ he knew that. And then I came here. And I saw you. And I realized that I told Thorin everything. Only it wasn't the present me. It was the Future me."

Thorin's brow was furrowed as he tried to decipher what I was saying.

I let out a squeaky laugh. "God, this is harder than I thought it would be." Deep breath. "I am telling you the future now so you can help me one-hundred-and-fifty-years in your future. One-hundred-and-fifty years from now you are going to meet me again. And you have to make sure events turn out exactly as I recounted them to you. That is the only way to save Middle Earth. You must pretend not to know me. You must pretend to hate me in the beginning and slowly befriend me. You must refuse to give money to the elvenking and the men of Dale. And, and, and." I swallowed. My throat tasted like sandpaper. "And you have to die in the Battle of Five Armies."

The heavy silence that followed that statement was unbearable. I felt like someone had dropped an anvil on my chest and just left it there, slowly crushing me. I couldn't breathe. Who could breathe at a time like this? Trivial things like breathing were not important. All I could do was stare at Thorin. The rest of the world seemed to turn white and blurry while Thorin grew clearer and clearer in my vision. I had no idea what was running through his mind. His face simply looked…thoughtful. The right side of his mouth slightly downturned at his thought and there was a little crease between his eyebrows.

"Well," said Thorin. "Most people do not have the luxury of knowing when they are going to die."

I felt as though the anvil had been smashed into thousand pieces. The pain lifted from chest and all of a sudden, breathing was important again. My chest heaved up and down as I stared at Thorin.

"You, you, you." I closed my eyes and laughed. I was crying (of course). Each laughed was shaking and coughing, muffled by the salty tears rolling down my cheeks. "You. I love you."

Thorin sighed. "I know. We need to fix that."

I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand. I sniffled. "Well, we could never truly be friends until you saw how ugly I am when I cry."

"I do not want to associate with you when you cry," said Thorin.

"That bad, is it?"

He nodded.

I let out a gurgling laugh. "You really have no changed. Not that much."

Thorin shook his head. "You have snot dripping from your nose."

I used the table napkin to wipe my face off. I looked pretty nasty—it's a miracle Thorin did not run off at the mere sight of my face.

But even after that hideous event, Thorin sat opposite me. His arms were folded over his chest and his face was grim. But he stayed. He made no motion that he was going to get up and leave me alone. He stayed.

And that thought made me start crying again.

"Where are you going now?" asked Thorin.

I wiped my face with the already disgusting table napkin. "I don't know. I can't Skip voluntarily anywhere. I don't have the Senturiel, so I don't want to risk jumping off a roof. I could just hang around until the Senturiel decides to take me away…" I glanced at Thorin hopefully.

He grunted. "How are you with a blacksmith hammer?"

I glanced down at my skinny little arms. "Can I run errands instead?"

Thorin pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. "We will see."

He moved to the door and I followed him eagerly. We got a whole two feet before Thorin turned to look at me.

"I am not going anywhere with you when your face looks like that."

"What?" I cried. "How mean! Have some sympathy for a poor, single woman! I have risked my life, I have crossed time and space to come here and give you news from the future and all you can say to thank me is _go wash your face_! What kind of a dwarf are you?"

Thorin smirked. "A majestic one."

**END OF PART ONE: ANACHRONISM**


	80. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

**Hi! For those of you who don't know me, I'm LinzRW. Which all of you should know since you've read my story for 79 chapters. But, you never know. There could be some crazy person who read 79 chapters and never bothered to look at the author's name. It's been known to happen. (cough cough me cough cough)**

**Anyway, I just wanted to answer some questions and give some announcements about Part II: Anamnesis**

**PART TWO INFORMATION:**

Part II will, hopefully, start being written at the beginning of June, and I will just add it on to this story (so if this story is favorited or followed by you, you should get an e-mail saying that the next chapter is up). I am only 45% of the way through the chapter plan at this point. I'm Also waiting until I finish high school (graduation) before I start writing again. I have so much shit going on and not enough time. My life would be so much easier if I didn't have to sleep.

Let's see.

Two years have passed and Ana has not Skipped since the destruction of the Ring. But her life isn't all bad. In fact, she's enjoying her Senturiel-less life in Bree. Every day is filled with majesty. That is, of course, until an old-new acquaintance shows up and calls Ana's fake-husband off to war. And then, Ana has the slight problem of being stalked by an insane man who calls himself Tea. And, of course, the past has a way of coming and biting you on the backside. So, perhaps, Ana's life isn't as enjoyable as she would have liked it – but that's all part of being the Skipper. FEATURING: Dwarves, dwarves, dwarves, and more dwarves. Some orcs. Some humans. Some annoying elves that we don't really like to talk about. More dwarves. A ghostly ex-boyfriend that can never quite get over the fact that he was dumped in the future. A crazy girl who runs around and makes jokes to some sort of plot. And, of course, the most majestic dwarf of all.

**ANSWERS TO RANDOM QUESTIONS I HAVE RECEIVED IN REVIEWS:**

**Is there a Part Two?**

Yes.

**Did you have the plot developed when you first started writing?**

No. I had the plot developed around chapter ten. That's how my writing process works. I start with a premise (Crazy girl Skips) add humor (lolz majesty, lolz no one likes elves, lolz you're stupid) and then I start developing ideas (How can I be as mean as possible to my readers while making everything okay in the end?). For those of you who have read my Criminally Insane Series as well, you can see the same development. No direction and Humor and them – BAM – plot.

**How can I be a part of the Cool Points Scale?**

Plus One Hundred Points for reading this story.

There you go. You are now a part of the CPS. Everyone starts at 0 and you just start adding and subtracting. Feel free to add other people. It's easy. You just go up to a random strange and scream, "Minus Ten Thousand CPS for talking on the phone while ordering coffee! Do you not understand how ANNOYING that is for employees trying to take your order and for the coffee-addicts standing in line behind you who just want their damn coffee but you're holding up the line!?" And then you stop and explain the CPS to everyone in the store and – VOILA – you have spread the CPS.

**What is the reason Ana Skipped without the Senturiel?**

That is what I call a spoiler and it is frowned upon in most societies. (It shall be addressed in Part Two)

**What on EARTH just happened!?**

You'll just have to wait until the next chapter (or the next twenty chapters) to find out. (Insert smug smile here)

**Do you drop not-so-subtle hints of Ana's backstory and who "You" is throughout the story?**

Yes. For example, if you go back and read the chapter Beardless and Blond, Dis tells Ana the story of dwarvish legend, Geirfast the Stone Biter. And if you read all of Ana's comments to "You", "You" actually has Thorin's personality.

**What does Thorin do when he's drunk?**

It's a secret known only to the dwarven people. It is one of their most highly kept secrets. No one, not even a hobbit with high majestic potential, can know of it.

**How do you manage to update so much in such a short amount of time?**

30% Inspiration. 30% Motivation. 35% I have the entire store planned out in detail and in advance. 5% The fact that I type at 60 WPM peck-typing where I don't have to look at the keyboard. (I'm very proud of this fact. They tried to teach me to type properly, but my peck-typing was flawless already.)

**Why must you do this to us!?**

Because it's fun.

**Alright. This is LinzRW signing off for a little while. I have a chapter plan to finish and other FanFiction to update (Criminally Insane Series). I'll see you again in a few weeks and in the meantime, you can check out some of my other works! (Click on my name up at the top of the page and scroll to the bottom of my profile.) **

**I love you all and I'll see you soon! Spread the love! **


	81. The Woman Who Wears Pants

**PART TWO: ANAMNESIS**

**Chapter I: The Woman Who Wears Pants**

Have you heard the old legend of the Woman Who Wears Pants? Okay, so you have—but I'm going to pretend like you haven't heard this story and tell it to you again. The Woman Who Wears Pants is more of a human legend, so it makes sense than you _haven't_ heard it. The legend originated in Bree, way back in the year TA 2793. Whoa. That was a long time ago. Man, this is making me feel old. I don't want to tell this story anymore.

But I'm going to anyway.

Because it's an awesome story. And you're going to hear it again. (Whether you want to or not.)

So, where were we? Oh yeah. The Woman Who Wears Pants. She showed up in Bree in the year TA 2791 with her husband. He was a blacksmith and she was a… Well, no one was really sure what she did. Sometimes, she ran errands for her husband. Sometimes, she would wander around market, picking out food for dinner. Sometimes, she went to the woods near Bree and would disappear for hours. No one was really sure what she _did—_they just knew that she was crazy.

The Woman Who Wears Pants is one of those stories that old men and women tell their grandchildren as they sit around the fireplace in the evening. The basic story is that the woman—supposedly, she was descended from a long line of Bree dwarves, but no one knew that for sure—was insane. And one morning, she woke up and decided that she didn't want to live in Bree anymore. So her poor husband (he was a hardworking dwarf who tolerated every single one of his wife's changing moods), packed up and moved out with her. The Woman Who Wore Pants and her husband did not return to Bree for a very long time.

Rumor spread across the map and soon Bree heard of a wild woman who was up in the mountain, fighting massive trolls and boorish orcs with her bare hands. Foreigners seemed surprised and awed at the stories, but the villagers of Bree just shook their heads and said, "That is our pants wearing woman."

The stories go one to tell of a woman who drags her unwilling husband on adventures, where she climbs a mountain (because she wanted to be the tallest person in the world) and battles the king of goblin town (because he called her fat) and then tries to assassinate some elves who "looked at her funny" and then decides to go ghost hunting (because someone told her ghosts didn't exist) and then she tries to infiltrate a dwarf camp and pretends to be one of their own (because she stalks the dwarven prince). The stories go on and on and they all say pretty much the same thing: the Woman Who Wears Pants is crazy and she does crazy stuff for crazy reasons and, girls, you should never wear pants or you'll end up like her—jumping off a cliff because you want to take a "dip" in the sea, only to never resurface again.

The moral of the story is what makes listening to it worthwhile.

_Ooooooh. Don't wear pants, girls. They're scary. They'll do funny things to your head._ (Personally, I'd be more worried about my legs than my head—the pants they make in Bree are not blue jeans, I can tell you that.)

Anyway, I'm going to tell you the story of the Woman Who Wears Pants. Except, I'm going to tell you the better version. Now, it doesn't have an awesome moral like "Don't wear pants, girls" at the end, but I think it has some pretty good moral lessons to teach.

Let's see, where does the story begin? I guess I should start in Bree, shouldn't I?

Oh. I know where! Okay. We're going to start in a forest where a short, blond woman named Ana (that's me) was practicing archery.

I pulled back the string of the crossbow and caught it on the latch. Then, I lifted the crossbow and pointed it the tree which had been dubbed the target. The tree was flecked with holes where previous shots had pierced the thick bark and the arrows had had to be cute from the tree.

When I first began practicing archery, I think I managed to get ten arrows in the trunk of the tree. Ten out of one hundred. After three years of practice, the arrows now landed closely together, so that only one spot on the tree had been carved out by arrows. Each day I grew closer to becoming an archery master—the kind that put Olympic athletes to shame. Maybe I would Skip back to Earth and join the Olympic team, just so I could say I won a gold metal. The looks on everyone's faces when I showed up at home randomly and was magically a pro archer. They would be some confused!

I jerked the trigger. The crossbow sprung to life. The string snapped taut. The arrow flew through the air—and hit a rock on the ground twelve feet to the right of the tree.

"God, damn it," I said. "So close. So close to a perfect ten-out-of-ten! So close!"

I dropped my arms, the crossbow hanging at my side. I stepped over a patch of mushrooms and went to pick up my arrow. My movements earned me a round of applause.

"Shut up, Longshoe," I said. "I'm still working on the tenth shot."

"Longshoe? Personally, I think my feet are rather average sized."

My heart missed a beat. That was not Longshoe. I spun around and saw a tall man with long, red-brown hair leaning against the trunk of a tree. He might be pretty good-looking if I wasn't too creeped out at the time to notice. He wore a simple tunic and brown boots with a broad sword strapped to his waist. His arms were folded across his broad chest and lips quirked upwards in a half smile.

I moved to arm my crossbow, but being me, I dropped the crossbow on my foot. I let out a cry of pain and hopped away, clutching my aching foot. "God, damn it, this is _not_ my day!"

The man laughed. Like, I mean, _really_ laughed. He was doubled over with amusement, clutching his stomach. I was jumping around on one foot and he was practically rolling on the forest floor with laughter—it was not a pretty scene.

"Who are you?" I asked, right before I tripped over my fall crossbow and face-planted into a bush.

The man's guffawing laughter grew louder.

"You suck," I said.

He wiped a tear from the corner of his right eye. "You are amusing. I like you. Have you ever considered joining a comedy-acting troupe? I think you would have a very successful career."

"Not my style," I said, sitting up and brushing some dirt off my arms.

"Shame."

"Who are you?" I asked again, picking up my crossbow and making sure there was no damage done to it by my feet.

"I am Tea."

"T?"

"Tea."

"Tee?"

"Tea."

"Tea?"

"Tea."

"Like that caffeinated drink that's like a wannabe version of coffee?" I got to my feet.

"Actually, tea came before coffee—so would coffee not be the wannabe version of tea?"

"Blasphemy!" I cried. "Never accuse coffee of wanting to be anything but what it is. It doesn't matter which came first. What matters is which one tastes better. And that is obviously coffee, because, let's face it, coffee is the drink of divine perfection."

Tea tipped is head back and let out another wave of laughter. When the body shaking fit of mirth died down, Tea managed to say, "You are better than I thought you would be."

I packed up my fallen arrow, the one that had hit the rock earlier. "You must have had pretty low expectations."

"Very," said Tea. "I was expecting you to be fat."

"What!?" I placed the arrow in the crossbow and pulled back the string. I turned and pointed it at Tea. "You could have at least said I was shorter than you expected or crazier!"

"Or stupider," said Tea. He glanced down at the crossbow and then back up at me. "I saw you fire earlier. I would be more frightened if you were aiming over there." Tea pointed randomly to his left.

I pulled the trigger. The string snapped forward and the arrow embedded itself in the tree, barely an inch from Tea's right eye.

Tea glanced at the arrow shaft and then he turned back to me. A twisted smile crossed his face and he tilted his head to the side. "You missed."

"That was on purpose!" I cried, drawing another arrow from the quiver attached to my side. "Are you stupid? I was obviously missing you on purpose so you could live but feel threatened by the fact that I could potentially kill you!"

Tea yawned. "That is you excuse. I think you can only hit me one in every ten shots."

"Wrong" I fired again and this arrow landed right beside the other, slightly closer to Tea's face.

"You keep missing. Tea sighed. "I hope no one's life ever depends on your aim."

"Shut up," I said. "I can hit you nine-times-out-of-ten."

"And the tenth shot?"

"I miss by about twelve feet."

The corners of Tea's mouth twitched. "Every time?"

I screwed up my face and resisted answering, but, eventually, my mouth got the better of me and I said, "Every time."

Tea was rolling on the ground laughing again. I scowled at him. "I'm working on it! That's why I'm out here practicing!"

Tea didn't stop laughing. I think he might have been crying, he was laughing so hard.

"I don't like you," I said, crossing my arms.

"I like you," said Tea.

"Well, you're awful at showing it."

"I am about as kind as an untrained oliphaunt."

"More like a rapid porcupine."

"Porcupines are adorable." Tea paused to consider this. "You consider me to be cute? Aw, that is so kind of you. I would like say the same about you…" Tea gave me the once over. "But obviously that would be a lie."

"I don't have to put up with this kind of abuse," I said. I slung the crossbow over my shoulder and put the arrow back in the quiver. "I would say it was nice to meet you, but that would be a lie and my mother always told me to be a good, honest girl."

Tea cackled with mirth. "My mother always taught me to have better comebacks than my opponent. The winner of the word battle has the upper hand in the physical battle."

I was already walking away from Tea, picking my way through the tree roots and bushes. For a moment, I thought Tea was going to let me go. He made no motion to follow me and he wasn't speaking. I breathed a sigh of relief. Free.

"You are already running away?" asked Tea, appearing beside me with that stupid smile plastered on his face.

"I'm not running away," I said. "I'm going to be late for dinner. We're having roast potatoes for dinner tonight. I happen to love roast potatoes more than anything and if you get between me and my roast potatoes, I will tie you to a chair and force you to cuddle with the sharpest porcupine I can find."

"I love roast potatoes," said Tea. "Can I come home for dinner?"

"No. My husband can't stand talkative people. And he's been trained as a warrior. You think cuddling porcupines is bad? That's because you haven't met my husband. He will sacrifice you to his frigging dragon. And I've met his dragon. That thing needs some serious anger management therapy. So, I think you need to work on your people skills before I bring you home to dinner."

"Your husband does not like talkative people?" asked Tea. A wide grin spread across his face. "The fact that it's you saying this just makes my day. Can we please be friends forever? Please?"  
"You insulted my looks and my shooting skills." I tossed my blond hair over my shoulder and scoffed in Tea's direction. "I could never befriend you."

"Would you like me to apologize?" asked Tea. "If I get down on one knee and beg for forgiveness, will you be my best friend forever?"

"I'll consider it," I said.

We reached the end of the forest and stepped out onto the dirt road. The entrance to Bree rested on the other side of the road, the wooden wall towering over the road. Longshoe was talking to the gatekeeper. He caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye and he turned to wave at me. When I waved back, Longshoe hurried across the road.

"Were you practicing shooting again?" asked Longshoe.

"Yeah. I still miss the tenth shot."

"It takes practice," said Longshoe. "You will be perfect soon enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling me that." I pouted.

"So who were you practicing with?" asked Longshoe.

I frowned. "What?"

"Who were you practicing with?" asked Longshoe.

"I was practicing by myself," I said.

Longshoe blinked. "You were talking to someone when you came out of the woods."

I glanced around. Left. Right. Behind. There was no one there. I turned back to Longshoe, one eyebrow raised slightly. "Um. No. I was alone. Are you feeling all right, Longshoe? Do you need me to call a doctor? I know a good doctor. Well, no. Not really. The doctors here are all really strange. They seem to think leeches are a good solution to everything." I shuddered. "If I get sick, just let me die. If anyone suggests bringing leeches near me, can you beat them over the head with a shovel? Just stand over my sick bed with the shovel and hit any doctors who come near me, okay?"

Longshoe nodded eagerly.

"You're such a great friend," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "Now come on. The hubby is going to kill me if I'm late to dinner."

At the word "Hubby", Longshoe practically wilted with disappointment. I didn't notice since I was already strolling across the road, humming a cheerful tune. (I was a little dense back then. Oh wait. I still am.)

I'd been living in Bree the past two years with my hubby. No Skipping. After that unexplained Skip on Mount Doom, I hadn't seen a glimmer of the Senturiel. I had been stuck in Bree for the past two years and that was working pretty well for me. I'd taken to calling all the villagers in Bree my long lost cousins (since, for all I know, they're related to my dad.) At first, the villagers were extremely confused by my over friendly attitude and avoided me like the plague, but after a while, they became accustomed to my oddities. Whenever a traveler passed through Bree and encountered my weirdness, the villagers would say proudly, "That's our Ana."

As I passed through town with my good friend Longshoe (he tended to cringe at that word, though I never understood why), different villagers would approach me and greet me.

"How did your practice go today, Ana?" asked Rob Fernpath, a local farmer who came into town often to sell his crops.

"The same as always," I said with a dramatic sigh. "Ten is the most unlucky number imaginable. Woe on ten. Beware! Beware!" My sorrow turned to laugher. "But really, I think my tenth shot is getting a little bit closer to the target this time."

"That is good," said Rob. "That husband of yours keeps you working at it, though. He is a tough one."

I grinned. "He'll be happy to hear that. He thinks you guys are too soft on me. He says that you guys baby me whenever I tell you I miss the tenth shot. He says I can't be considered an archer until I'm perfect."

Rob went on his way and was soon replaced by Sam Burberry, the local woodsman.

"I saw Kol in the forest today," said Sam, stroking his thick, black beard.

"Kol?" Longshoe frowned. "Is that the buck you named?"

"Not just any buck," I said. "He's a player."

Sam nodded in firm agreement. "He was in the company of another doe today."

"Another one?" I asked. "Damn. How many doe does he _have_? First, there was Olga and then there was Ulna. And then there was Helga. Who's the new girl?"

"She is a fine doe," said Sam. "Olga, Ulna, and Helga will be jealous."

"_Shannon_," I said with disgust.

Sam nodded grimly. "She does look like a Shannon."

After Sam made his way over to the inn for a good drink, Lucy Nailhead called out my name a bustled across the busy street. She was a pulp woman with rosy cheeks who believed it was her duty to feed me. She came up to me holding a basket of pastries and forced them into my hands.

"Dough balls?" I asked eagerly.

"Of course," said Lucy. "How could I forget?"

"You are a dahling," I said. "Long shoe, isn't she a dahling?"

"Yes, yes," said Longshoe eagerly. "She is a darling."

"Not darling," I said. "_Dahling_. Jeez. Get it right."

"Dahling? What is the difference?" asked Longshoe.

Lucy gasped and clutched my arm. "Ana? Is it true? Longshoe does not know what a dahling is?"

I sighed and shook my head. "Apparently he doesn't."

"Lucy knows?" asked Longshoe, his brown eyes widening with surprise.

"Of course, I do," said Lucy indignantly. "How could you not know?" She spun around and grabbed a random stranger from the street. It happened to be a curly, blond-haired hobbit who worked at the _Prancing Pony_. Lucy pulled him into the conversation and said, "Hob, how is 'dahling' different from 'darling'?"

Hob barely missed a beat. "Dahling is a term of affection that applies to a person with some amount of majestic potential."

Longshoe sighed and turned to smile at me. "I should have known it concerned majesty."

Hob frowned. "Did Longshoe not know what the term 'dahling' meant?"

Lucy shook her head sadly.

"Are you really one of us Bree folk?" asked Hob. "Who _does not_ know the meaning of 'dahling'?"

The teasing of Longshoe went on for a few more minutes before I excused myself from the group (after all, the hubby would _not_ be happy if I was late for dinner.) Longshoe followed as I made my way through the streets of Bree to the blacksmith's store.

"So who _was_ that man you were talking to earlier?" asked Longshoe.

"Sam?" I asked. "He's a woodcutter."

"No," said Longshoe. "You came out of the forest with him."

"I was in the forest alone," I said. "You keep asking me that and I have no idea what you're talking about."

We stopped in front of my house and I stepped onto the doorway.

"Seriously, Longshoe," I said. "And I thought _I_ was the crazy one."

I pushed the door open and stepped inside with a quick wave to Longshoe. The door closed firmly behind me. My home was a humble abode that rested next to the smithy. It was simple, with a kitchen, two bedrooms, an armory (of course), and a room for washing. That's it. I wouldn't have minded a pool in the backyard, but you know how Middle Earth is. I have a routine for arriving home. First, I bounded down the hall and enter the first room on the left—a small armory of axes, swords, and crossbows. After putting away my weapons, I head for the kitchen, where, undoubtedly my hubby will be cooking dinner (he doesn't ever let me prepare the food—no idea why.) I would run into the kitchen and cry, "Hubby! I'm home!"

And, as always, Thorin would look up from the plate of lamb he was slicing and shoot me a venomous glare. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?"

Habit is a wonderful thing.


	82. The Songs of Dwarves

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter II: The Songs of Dwarves**

"Fish?"

I grinned and nodded. "The hubby has a taste for fish tonight."

"Most dwarves I have encountered do not have a taste for fish." The local fish merchant, Jon Redwell wiped his hands on his apron, which was stretched out over his round stomach. He was a large, big-boned man with a beer belly that could not be measured (he was a frequenter at the local inn). He wore dark trousers with a scarf wrapped around his shoulders (his wife insisted scarves worn that way were stylish, for whatever reason she believed that.)

"That's because they live in the mountains," I said. "How many fish do you know hop out of the sea and go on a road trip to the mountains?"

Jon frowned. "There are fish in the mountain rivers."

I paused and considered this. "Oh yeah… Well, I don't know, but Thorin likes fish. He's amazing at cooking them. I love it when he pan fries the fish. It's fishtastic."

Jon let out a deep, throaty laugh as he went to the wooden icebox and pulled out two trout. He placed them on the counter and started wrapping them up in brown paper for me. "So how is Kol the Buck doing?"

"He's been spotted with Shannon quite a lot frequently. Sam and I were wondering if Kol had finally found his one true love and was planning to settle down, but then Kol was seen with Olga. Maybe he and Shannon had a fight."

"I thought Kol was married to Helga," said Jon, trying up the wrapped fish with a string.

"Kol will never marry," I said. "Once a player, always a player."

Jon smiled and handed me the fish. "I hope you enjoy your pan fried fish."

"Thanks!" I cried, turning away from Jon.

And then I paused.

And stared.

And stared some more.

And some more after that.

There was a lot of staring going on.

Why did I stop and stare, you ask. Well, my eyes had fallen upon an all too familiar face. He didn't know me at the time though. While I certainly knew him, his face was younger (one-hundred-and-fifty years younger, to be exact), with less wrinkles and a think brown beard. He was still short and solid built, but he was much younger. Balin stood in the streets of Bree, dressed in armor, an axe strapped to his back. He kept looking left and right, his brows furrowed. It took me a moment to realize that he was lost.

For a second, I considered running across the street and hug tackling him—but then I paused. Balin didn't know me in this timeline. And if he met me… Then wouldn't he realize that I was the same Ana that he would meet one-hundred-and-fifty years in the future? What if he told my past self that I would meet Thorin again in his past? (I'm getting confused just explaining this to myself.) Basically, no one who meets me in the future could know that I am the same Ana. It could mess up everything.

"Jon," I said, turning around to face the fish merchant.

"Yes?"

"I'm borrowing this." I leaned over the table and snatched the scarf from his shoulder.

"Take it," said Jon. "And, please, do not return it."

I was barely listening as I draped the scarf over my head, trying to hide as much of my face as possible. The knitted red scarf smelled of raw fish. I wrinkled my nose as I crept across the street, trying to avoid calling attention to myself. Balin had asked someone for directions and was now walking down the street. I followed him, dodging in and out of the crowds of people. Some folk gave me weird glances. Lucy even laughed aloud at the sight of me. I ignored them. I was on a mission. (I'm I the only one playing the Mission Impossible theme song in my head?)

What was Balin doing in Bree?

He was walking in the direction of Thorin and my house. Was he looking for Thorin?

Hopefully, Thorin had the common sense not to tell Balin my real name.

Hopefully no one in Bree told Balin my real name.

I'm invisible... Like air… He couldn't see me.

Longshoe paused in the middle of the street, his thick eyebrows scrunched up as he stared at me. "Ana?"

"Shut up!" I hissed, putting a finger to my lips. "I'm busy."

Balin was a good dozen feet ahead of me on the street. I tried to maintain the distance in case he looked over his shoulder and I could appear completely unconcerned with his business. I think I have pretty stellar stalking skills, don't you? Balin, in all his thick, red armor, had no idea I was walking behind him. None at all.

Until he stepped down a side alleyway and when I tried to follow him, he put a knife to my throat.

Yeah.

Maybe my stalking skills need _a little_ work.

The stone walls of the building pressed into my back. The alleyway was dark and only a sliver of light slipped through the towering stone buildings. The yellow line fell across Balin's face like some twisted scar. His eyes were narrowed and his large, round nose was almost touching my face.

I glanced left. I could see the people passing by in the street. They were chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

"He robbed me, I am telling you, he robbed me."

"—exhaustion is setting in."

"Did you see the woman who wears pants? She was walking around with a scarf—"

I glanced back at Balin. He didn't resemble the cheerful, elderly man that I remembered. The Balin before me was hard and gritty and very likely to try and murder me.

"Hi," I said, smiling weekly.

"Who are you?" asked Balin.

"Me?" I glanced right and then left. "I don't know. You tell me."

"This is no time for fun and games." Balin pressed the sword closer to my throat. "Who are you and why were you following me?"

"Following you?" I let out a weak laugh—somewhere between a high-pitched scream and whinny. "Why would I follow you? I don't even know you. Nope. Not at all. This is my first time meeting you. Definitely."

Balin scowled. "You are making me even more suspicious with each word that comes from your mouth."

I clamped my mouth shut.

"Why are you wearing a scarf over your head?" asked Balin.

"Religious reasons," I said.

Balin reached up to remove the scarf? A moment of heart wrenching terror shot through my body. What if Balin remembers me? Oh my God. He can't. He can't. He can't. It'll screw everything up. Stop. Stop. Stop. No. Thorin!

"Balin, stop it."

The knife at my throat disappeared and the arms holding me against the wall moved away. I opened one eye first and then the other. In all his majesty, Thorin stood before me. He was dressed in his usual navy blue shirt and black pants. His arms were crossed over his chest and his lips were downturned in a disapproving scowl. Balin stood next to Thorin, glancing from Thorin to me and back to Thorin, confusion written all over his face.

I gasped for breath and reached up to touch my throat—just to be sure that the knife edge was really gone. It was, but when I removed my hand from my neck, there was a thin line of red blood.

"You cut me," I said. "You frigging cut me."

Balin wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on Thorin and a wide smile crossed Balin's face. "I have not seen you in an age, Thorin."

Thorin glanced at me (I was still freaking out over the fact that my neck was bleeding) and then turned his attention to Balin. The two dwarves hugged in greeting. I thought Balin might try to headbutt Thorin as a way of saying hello, but maybe even Balin realized Thorin was too majestic for activities such as headbutting.

"Do try not to kill her," said Thorin. "I may have tried on several occasions, but I do need her alive and in one piece."

"He has tried to kill me," I said. "Once with a frying pan because I accidentally spilled the salt canister on his friend fish."

"Who is she?" asked Balin, ignoring me entirely.

I crossed my fingers and prayed Thorin had some sense to realize that Balin should not know my name. I had told Thorin the whole story of his future and my past together. Hopefully, he would realize that Balin could not know.

"She is someone who you should not kill," said Thorin.

Balin sighed. "But who is she? What is she called?"

And right about here a strange thing happened. You see, Thorin answered Balin's question with "Ana" at the same time that I screamed "Thorin!" in an attempt to cover up my actual name. And somehow, through all this, Balin heard—

"Anren?" asked Balin. "Her name is Anren?"

Thorin and I glanced at each other, silently debating if we should correct him or just leave things be.

Then, we turned back to Balin.

"Anren," I said, holding out my hand for Balin to shake. "Twenty-four-years-old, one-quarter dwarf, three-quarters human, height four-foot-ten, married to Thorin Oakenshield, but he's not called Oakenshield yet so just forget I said that. I' m married to Thorin. The blacksmith. The guy standing right next to me."

I could see Thorin resisting the urge to facepalm out of the corner of my eye.

"Married?" asked Balin, his eyes growing wide.

"We are not," said Thorin. "We met in Bree and after she told me her life story, we started living together. The villagers of Bree somehow invented the story that we were married after eloping to avoid her rich family and while we tried to convince them otherwise at first, we find it easier just to go along with their fantasies."

"Aw," I said, "Don't say that, Hubby. Our love is a true love."

Thorin shot me a venomous glare.

I laughed and pulled the scarf tighter around my head. "I feel like a bride wearing her veil."

"We are going home," said Thorin, taking firm hold of my forearm and steering me out of the alleyway. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned for Balin to follow.

We stepped back out onto the busy main street of Bree. Some Breelanders gave us queer glances, but, for the most part, they were used to the bizarre couple. Thorin and I headed down the street back towards our house. Thorin kept a firm hold on me through the entire walk, determined not to let me perform any more idiocies.

"Don't tell Balin my real name," I muttered.

"He thinks you are Anren," said Thorin. "I do not intend to correct him."

"Anren…" I considered this new name for a second. "Is that dwarvish?"

Thorin didn't respond.

"What's it dwarvish for?" I asked eagerly. "Does it mean pretty? Or gorgeous? Divine? Perfection? Or does it mean Queen of the Spider Moneys of Awesomeness?"

Thorin stared at me for a second, judging whether I was truly stupid or just pretending. I don't know what he decided, but he said, "It means 'annoying short girl who never stops talking'."

I frowned. "Are you serious or just pulling my leg?"

Thorin smirked.

We had reached our house and Thorin moved to unlock the door. Balin stood a little ways behind us, watching our exchanges curiously. I smiled sheepishly at Balin and managed a little wave.

"Do try not to kill me," I said as sweetly as possible.

Balin's eyes narrowed. "How long have you and Thorin been living together?"

"Two years," I said. "He originally took me in out of pity and planned to kick me out as soon as possible."

Thorin grunted in agreement as he threw open the front door and stepped back to allow Balin and I inside. I blew Thorin a kissed and thanked my "hubby", while Balin glowered at me from behind. I am _so_ good at making friends.

I lead Balin into the dining room which was joined to the kitchen. I pulled out a chair and bowed dramatically as Balin took his seat. More venomous glares. Laughing, I hopped down in the seat across from him and beamed.

"Thorin just has to close up shop," I said. "He'll be back in a minute. So any questions or threats that you have for me, you might as well get out of the way now while my hubby can't hear you."

Balin stared at me for a moment. "I cannot decide if you are thick-skinned or stupid."

"Definitely stupid," I said. "Is this the first insult? Do carry on."

Balin seemed to hesitate. He glanced around the kitchen, taking in the wooden counters and the black stove top. He glanced at the wooden table and the four chair that surrounded it. He took in the iron plates, pots, and pans that Thorin had made as well as the decorative weapons that hung from the walls.

"Thorin likes fancy weapons," I said with a dramatic sigh. "Personally, I just walk from room to room hoping that I don't trip and spear myself on one of the swords hanging on the walls."

"How does Thorin tolerate you?" asked Balin. "I have been in your company for not more than ten minutes and already I cannot stand you."

"Aw," I said, giggling. "You're too sweet. Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Stop," said Balin. "Stop avoiding my questions. You make yourself sound more incompetent that you actually are. You are oblivious to the happenings around you. Do you even know who Thorin is? Do you know where he comes from? Do you know about his family? Why he is living in Bree? What right do you have to cloud his life with you ignorant ramblings?"

I sat at the wooden table, drumming my fingers on the arm of the chair. I watched Balin as he spoke with a twisted smile on my face. I waited patiently (or as patiently as I could) until he finished talking. Then, I laughed.

I don't think he expected me to laugh. Balin's face shifted from this enraged-superior expression with upturned nose and raised eyebrows to an expression of just plain confusion. "I do not see what is so funny."

"You," I leaned forward and propped my head up on my arms. "Are adorable. You think I don't know Thorin? Honey, I know Thorin better than he knows himself. I know that he will be King under the Mountain. I know that he is crucial to the fate of Middle Earth and he will accomplish great things. I know that he likes friend fish better than baked fish. I know that he secretly finds potty humor amusing, though he'll never admit to it because he thinks it doesn't suit his image. I know that he has nightmares about Smaug attacking Erebor at least once a week. I know that his favorite color is blue and I know that he thinks he looks good shirtless, so he likes to work in the smithy bare-chested. I know he likes to cook and he hates it when other people intrude on his kitchen. I know that misses Erebor and all the gold that it possesses, but at the same time, some small part of him is glad that he has been relieved of his responsibilities as king, which is why he's here in Bree and not in Dunland with the rest of the dwarves. I know that he loves his father and misses his mother. I know that he didn't believe me at first, but now he would do anything to me. I know that he is the most majestic being to ever walk this world—or any world—and when he is gone, there will be no one as majestic to follow."

Balin stared at me. I don't know what was going through his head, but I don't think my response if what he expected.

"I do not think I look good without a shirt on."

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Thorin standing in the kitchen doorway, a half-smirk, half-scowl toying at his lips.

I grinned up at him. "I'm not complaining, Hubby."

Thorin nodded once and then turned to Balin. "You have some business with me?"

Balin glanced suspiciously at me. "Such business is best discussed in private."

I snorted. "Thorin and I don't have secrets from each other. I know every aspect of his private life. And he knows every aspect of mine."

"You do not have a private life," said Thorin, taking a seat in the chair opposite Balin. "You share everything with everyone."

"That's not true," I said, my eyes flickering over Balin's masked face.

"No," said Thorin. "It is not."

Balin's eyes were like a tennis match, bouncing from Thorin to me to Thorin to me. He didn't speak, only watched. I kept glancing over at Balin, wondering curiously how he took the conversation. Thorin seemed not to care at all what Balin thought of our exchanges. Thorin leaned back in his chair and surveyed me with his cool blue eyes. It was only when he addressed Balin, that Thorin acknowledged the dwarf's presence.

"So what news do you bring?" asked Thorin.

"Ill news," said Balin with a wary glance in my direction. "You grandfather, Thror, has died."

Thorin has always and will always have better self-control than me. It's a fact of life. At the news of his grandfather's death, Thorin blinked, once, took a deep breath, and then said, "How did this come to pass?"

Easy. Simple. Not a betrayal of emotion. The untrained eye would never know the knot of pain that had tightened inside of Thorin. Thankfully, my eyes have become particularly accustomed to this young Thorin over the past two years. The shadows beneath his eyes became more pronounced and he flexed his fingers and curled them slightly. A slight hint, but all I needed to know.

Balin took a deep breath. "King Thror wished to see Khazad-dum, the land of his ancestors. He took a handful of dwarves with him and departed from our home in Dunland. They crossed the Redhorn-Pass and made it down into Azanulbizar, the Dimrill Dale. They found the east gate open and King Thror was determined to enter. His companion, Nar, warned him against such a dangerous road, but the king was not to be deterred. He entered through the west-gate, bringing with him two companions. Nar waited outside the east-gate for several days with the others. On the seventh day, the other dwarves took the king for dead and they departed. Nar continued to wait for two more days. On the ninth day, Thror's body was thrown upon the steps of the east-gate along with his severed head. Upon the head dwarf runes were branded, declaring Thror a beggar king. Nar ran to his king's body, but he stopped when a great, white orc emerged from the east-gate. The orc threw a change purse upon Thror's corpse and called him a beggar. Then, a host of orcs emerged from the east-gate and swarmed around the king's body, feeding him to their crows. Nar had no choice but to flee down the Silverlode."

Balin paused here. He glanced at Thorin, perhaps hoping to see some sort of reaction, but Thorin gave none. He blue eyes were hooded and he stared at Balin determinedly. He would not speak until the story was finished.

So, since my hubby wouldn't speak, I took it upon myself to. "Orcs are bastards. Actually, that's an insult. I know a lot of bastards that I like. Nick was technically a bastard, his parents had him before they were married. Orcs are shits. Like those nasty piles of shit that you find in a cow paddock."

The corner of Thorin's mouth twitched upwards.

Balin stared at me for a second before deciding that the best course of action was to not respond.

"Nar returned to Dunland and told his experiences to your father, now King Thrain. For seven days, Thrain sat without eating or sleeping—"

"That's a little extreme," I said.

Balin shot me a murderous glare. "Without eating or sleeping. On the seventh day, Thrain leapt to his feet and cried, 'This cannot be born!' He called the dwarves to war. Not just the Longbeards, but Gudrun's Firebeards, Baldor's Broadbeams, Nord's Blacklocks, Hafdain's Stonefoots, Olvar's Ironfists, and Dagnur's Stiffbeards. All the houses answered Thrain's call. They are assembling in Ettenmoore. King Thrain has sent me to request your presence at camp. You are Prince Thorin of the Longbeards and your absence cannot be ignored. The dwarves have started to sing their war songs. Like drums in the deep, they call. They call across the mountains and through the dark halls. It is your duty to your people, to your father, and to your late grandfather to be a part of this war. Come with me and we shall avenge Thror's death."

When Balin finished speaking, a painfully long silence filled the room. I wasn't sure if I should break it or simply let it continue for God knows how long. In the end, I decided that silence was the best option. Knowing me, I would just say something stupid and it would cause Thorin and Balin to glare at me. Instead, I propped my head up on my hands and offered Thorin a glowing smile.

"Ettenmoore," said Thorin, breaking the silence like a sword on ice.

"Yes," said Balin, nodding stiffly. "We plan to move across the mountains there and attack the orc settlement on Mount Gundabad. We will take them by surprise in the daylight."

Thorin didn't respond. He was standing at the other side of the room where an axe with lacing, polished metal rested on the wall.

"I don't like war," I said abruptly.

Balin took a deep breath and turned to me with that No-One-Asked-Your-Opinion look in his eyes.

I smiled sweetly at him (which might have looked weird with a scarf wrapped around my head now that I think about it). "Have you ever been in a war, Master Balin?"

"I have been trained in the arts of war since I was a child," said Balin.

"Impressive," I said. "But have you been in a war?"

Balin's eyes narrowed. "I fought a dragon once."

"So have I," I said. "Multiple times. I invited him to join a band once, but he refused. Shame. He had a gorgeous singing voice. But I'm not talking about dragons, Master Balin, I'm talking about people. Have you fought people before?"

"I have fought orcs before if that is what you mean."

"Have you watched them die?" I asked. "Have you ever talked to one of the orcs you killed? Did you see the fear in his eyes? Did you hide in the ruins with him because you were both terrified at the thought of dying? Did you later find his corpse laying on his back, facing sunwards, amongst the bodies on the battle field? Do you know what it is like to see you reflection in the enemies' eyes? Do you still think battle is a glorious thing, Master Balin? Do you still want to charge off into war and earn yourself a title? Because I can tell you, when you return from this war—and return you shall—you will never be the same again. You will leave a part of you behind on that battlefield and you will never get it back."

Balin regarded me for a good long moment. Then, he turned to Thorin and said, "Where _did_ you find this girl?"

"I did not find her," said Thorin. "She found me."

I smiled at him. "Your majesty called to me. It was like a beacon in the night."

Thorin ignored me. Instead, he addressed Balin. "I will go to war."

I made a sound of protest, but a look from Thorin silenced me.

"But you must depart ahead of me. Tell my father that I am coming. I must close my affairs in Bree first."

Balin glanced sidelong at me and nodded.

"Only after I have sold the house and rid myself of heavy valuables," said Thorin. "Will we begin the long road north."

Balin made a sound that was a mix between disgust and outrage. "_We_?"

I gave him a smirk of triumph.

Thorin did not bat an eye. "We will cross Midgewater and Weatherton to the Trollshaw. We should reach Ettenmoore in a fortnight I should expect." He glanced at me and frowned. "Perhaps a little later than that. Anren can be rather slow."

"You are bringing a woman to battle?" asked Balin.

"She is competent enough," said Thorin. "She can use a crossbow and she is skilled with a weapon she calls the Sword Breaker. She has been in more battles than most."

"But she is not even a dwarf," said Balin, still struggling to understand Thorin's decision.

"I'm one-quarter dwarf," I said proudly. "My grandfather was Geirfast the Stone Biter."

Thorin shot me a warning look.

"She cannot go to Ettenmoore," said Balin. His arms were folded across his chest and his jaw was set with stubbornness. "I will not allow it. The dwarven kings will not allow it."

Thorin raised his eyesbrows. "I would like to see the dwarven kings try and stop her. It would be most amusing."

I smiled and nodded in agreement. "I inherited my grandfather's dwarven stubbornness. And my mother's nagging skills. Where Thorin goes, I go—there's no disputing that."

"Unfortunately," said Thorin.

"Hey!" I cried, poking him in the arm (which basically meant poking his bicep—not a good idea.) "Don't be mean to wifey!"

"If you call me 'Hubby' that in Ettenmoore," said Thorin. "I will feed you to a troll."

"Exactly," I said. The scarf threatened to fall of my head and I quickly righted it. "I have to milk this marriage thing while I still can."

Balin could not control his confusion. It came bursting from him like a wild explosion. He slammed his right hand on the table and, his eyes flashing wildly as he stared at me, cried, "Who _are_ you?"

Before I could respond, Thorin spoke. "She is Anren. She showed up in Bree two years ago and said she knew me. We met in Erebor when I saved her from the dragon, Smaug. She told me of her adventures since then and I decided to provide her shelter since then. According to me, she is my housemate. According to Breelanders, I am she is my wife. According to her, I am the future love of her life. She likes potatoes and this drink called coffee that I have never tried. She hates elves with a passion, though she occasionally befriends them. She likes to drink. She says things without thinking. She speaks oddly because she is not from here. She hates violence and she loves romantic stories. She likes monkeys but hates spiders and horses and heights. Her favorite color is lilac and her least favorite color is red. She talks in her sleep and her ambition is to form a—what do you call it?—Middle Earth's first boyband." Thorin paused and then added, "She is also obsessed with my majesty."

I turned to stare at Thorin. "That was impressive."

"It is revenge for earlier."

"It's true though," I said. "You do fancy yourself with your shirt off."

Thorin offered me one of the deadliest glares imaginable. I beamed back at him. Then, I turned my attention to Balin, who was still trying to register what had just happened.

"We're inseparable," I said. "Nothing parts this Hubby and his dahling Wifey."

"Darling," said Thorin. "You do not possess any majestic potential."

"Darn," I said. "I was hoping you'd miss that."

"Never."

My head returned to its position of being propped up in my arms. I gave Thorin a glowing smile that I'm pretty sure creeped him out to no end.

I could tell you about the rest of the night, but it was rather dull. Thorin and Balin spent most of the time catching up on each other's lives. It had been a few years since Thorin had departed from the settlement in Dunland. Balin told Thorin about the lives of the dwarves, how they had built their own village, separate from the men who lived there. The dwarves would travel to different villages and offered their craftsmanship and other services. It was a mean living and the dwarves did not enjoy it. Songs were still sun of the days in Erebor where the dwarves' lives were filled with gold and jewels.

Thorin listened to Balin wistfully. I could see the image of Erebor dancing in his eyes even if Thorin hid it as best as possible. It was only when Balin had retired to bed late in the night that I spoke to Thorin.

"Not yet," I said. "Not yet, but one day. You will return to Erebor and you will be King under the Mountain. Just not yet."

Thorin did not look at me. We were sitting beside the roaring fire, letting the crackling flames dance about in the stone block. The heat licked through the room and curled around us like a blanket.

"I will not be king for long though," said Thorin. "You said so yourself."

"I know," I said. "But you will see it. You will stand in your halls and you will bask in the gold. No one before you. You will be the king that reclaims his people's home. Just not yet."

Thorin leaned back in his chair. "I am amazed Balin does not recognize you in the future."

"I am too," I said. "I can't keep the scarf over my head forever."

"You looked ridiculous wearing that scarf."

I laughed. "I told him I wear it for religious reasons."

"And what are those reasons?"

"No idea." I rested my head on my arms and gave Thorin a glowing smile.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What am I doing?" I asked.

He sighed and gave me a sidelong, exasperated glance. "You keep smiling at me. You want something. You always smile like that when you want something from me."

My glowing smile grew even bigger. "Balin said that the dwarves were singing their war songs, like drums in the deep."

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Yes?"

"So why haven't you started singing."

"I am going to bed," said Thorin, getting up from his chair.

"Sing to me, Thorin!" I cried, stretching out my arms to him. "Sing to me in that beautiful, majestic voice of yours!"

Thorin closed the door behind him.

* * *

**A/N: Check out the fan art for the Skipper! Links are on my profile page (at the bottom). Don't forget to comment. Also, don't forget to review! Because... I love you and you love me and we're a great big reviewing family!**


	83. The Adventures Of Ana And Thorin

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter III: The Adventures Of Ana And Thorin**

Balin left the next morning for Ettenmoore. Thorin went with Balin to the borders of Bree to ensure that no one approached Balin and started talking about Thorin and his wife "Ana". Thankfully, this did not happen and Balin was on his way without any suspicion as to my true name. Anren I had become. The very day that Balin left, Thorin and I began to sell our belongings. We could only take a little to Ettenmoore—clothes, food, and weapons. We found someone to buy our house on the second day and we had sold off almost all of Thorin's decorative weapons by the third. The people of Bree were mortified to learn that Thorin and I were leaving. Poor Lucy was practically in tears.

"Who will taste my experimental pastries now?" asked Lucy, blubbering in the street.

"I'm sure Longshoe will be more than happy to," I said, patting her on the shoulder. "He always tells me that your apple pies are the best in all the land. I agree with him wholeheartedly."

Lucy seemed to cheer up a little at this. "You think so?"

"Oh yes," I said, nodding enthusiastically. "They're fantastic. Your pastries are to baking what beards are to majesty."

Lucy paused to consider this. I could see her running through everything she knew about majesty in her head. Finally, she decided to take it as a compliment and smiled at me. "You are majestic, Ana."

I laughed. "Never. No one is truly majestic accept my hubby. I'm Ana. Yeah. I'm Anajestic."

A broad grin spread across Lucy's face as she embraced me. "I will miss you dearly, my Anajestic girl."

"Where did you come up with Anajestic?" asked Thorin.

Lucy and I turned around to see my hubby strutting his majestic stuff back from the house. He carried with him two backpacks—one for me and one for him.

"Do I get the lighter one?" I asked.

"You get the heavy one," said Thorin. "My majestic back refuses to bear the weight."

I turned to Lucy and scrunched my face up in irritation. "I hate it when he uses his majesticness against me."

Lucy was starting to tear up again. "I will miss you with all my heart."

"There'll be a big hole in my heart where you ought to be," I said, patting Lucy on the shoulder.

She flung her arms around me and pulled me into a suffocating bear hug. My arms flapped uselessly at my side for a minute as I tried to hug her back, but couldn't reach because her steely grip had pinned my arms to my sides.

Finally, Lucy let me go, stepped back and said, "You must come visit."

"Aye-aye, Captain," I said, saluting her. "It is my sworn duty."

Thorin snorted. "Come on, _wifey_."

My eyes grew wide and I spun around, gasping. "_Did you just call me wifey_?"

"Good," said Thorin. "I have you attention. We need to leave. We are already late."

I waved a final good-bye to Lucy before bounding after Thorin, still giggling like an eight-year-old girl in the schoolyard (Isn't that a great simile? My high school English teacher would be proud).

"You called me wifey," I said. "Next thing I know, you'll be singing to me in that deep, majestic voice of yours."

"I will not happen," said Thorin.

"It's a dwarven tradition!" I cried. "You have to uphold the dwarven traditions!"

"You are not a dwarf."

"I'm one-quarter dwarf."

"You are one of those accidents that races do not like to talk about. Humans have them too. And hobbits. And elves." (We both shuddered at the mention of elves.) "We just pretend that you do not exist."

"I am here! I am here!" I said.

"What are you doing?" asked Thorin.

"It's a Dt. Seuss reference..." I said, pouting. "Horton Hears A Who? No? Nothing? Wow. Middle Earth is so deprived. Dr. Seuss is the second best poet that ever lived after Shel Silverstein."

"If they are your preferred poets," said Thorin. "I am certain Middle Earth is better without them."

"Mean hubby," I said. A wide smiled spread across my face. "Hubby. Hubby. Hubby. Hubby. Hubby."

"Stop that."

"I'm milking it for all it's worth while I still can, Hubby."

"Stop."

"What was that, Hubby?"

I swear Thorin's right eye twitched when I said that. He gritted his teeth. "Stop talking now."

"I couldn't quite hear you, Hubby?"

I was saved from Thorin trying to kill me by the arrival of Rob the Fish Guy. His beer-belly sticking out in front of him, he bumbled over and flung his arms around me. I could smell the overwhelming stench of fish as he lifted me off the ground and hugged me to his sweaty chest.

"I will miss you two!" said Rob, putting me down on the ground. "Best customers I've ever had!"

Rob moved to hug Thorin as well, but one look from Thorin's piercing blue eyes and Rob thought better of it. He eyes the axe strapped to the side of Thorin's backpack.

"We'll miss you too," I said. "And your fish. Possibly the best fish I have ever had. Except that one restaurant." I turned to Thorin. "Remember when I told you about the time my parents took me to the fish port—the one where that drunk guy came up to me and asked for some money and I kicked his—yeah?"

Thorin was glowering at me. I don't know why. I don't think he liked that story.

"You remember? Well, _that_ was the best fish I have ever had. But Rob's comes to a close second." I turned back to Rob and beamed at him. "I'll see you around, Rob. My hubby and I are late for a very important date."

Thorin smirked as we left Rob. "You know that they are all waiting for you to do something ridiculous."

"You're a mean hubby, Hubby," I said. "You're lucky that you're such a majesty hubby, Hubby, or I would no longer let you be my hubby, Hubby. And you should know that there are plenty of other hubbies vying for your position, Hubby. I have a line of potential hubbies, Hubby. So watch your step, Hubby."

"Where is the line of hubbies of whom you speak?" asked Thorin.

"Well," I said. "It's less of a line and more of a one person."

"Where is this one person?"

I grinned sheepishly. "Dead. Somewhere in the south, I think."

Thorn glanced at me. "The ghost king, Raoulidor, does not count. He does not even know you yet in this time."

"Our love is eternal," I said. "Fate cannot allow us to be together. But had our circumstances been difference, we would have been married and I would have been his ghostly queen. With a rotting face." I paused a frowned. "On second thought, I'd look terrible with a molding face. Maybe our love isn't as eternal as I thought."

Thorin smiled. "Come on. We have places to be."

"Let's blow this popsicle stand," I said, cheerfully.

"I will not ask about that reference," said Thorin.

"You've never had popsicles!" I cried, and then proceeded to explain the history of popsicles to him against his well. Have you ever read the history of popsicles? It's very fascinating. But I'll tell you about it some other time. First, I have some Anajestic wisdom to impart on you.

There is something to be said for how you leave a place.

First, you have the people who leave with tears in their eyes, blubbering everywhere. That method works for some people. I mean, I get it, they don't want to leave their home and it makes them said, so they cry and people cry with them and it's a huge crying fest. Personally, I think leaving with a puffy, red-eyed face is not a good idea. That is how the people you leave behind will remember you—ugly and crying. Not a good way to go.

You also have the people who leave without a good-bye. They'd rather have a smiling, happy last memory where no one is sad because no one else knows that it is farewell. The people who hate waterworks good-byes. So they sneak away in the middle of the night and never say a word of farewell. Bad idea too. Those people will be remembered as the cowards who ran away. Not a good way to go.

No. No. No. Leaving is about how you want to be remembered.

Thorin and I are experts. My whole life has been one great leaving. I go to this place and I leave two seconds later. I left my friends and my family for the sake of Middle Earth—I know how to leave. And Thorin unwillingly left the only home he ever knew at the fires of a dragon. We are the masters of leaving and I will tell you how it's done.

You have to leave in _style_.

Thorin and I walked down the main street aware that people would turn and watch us go.

They all knew us. We were the crazy husband and wife. The rumors that surrounded us were many. Thorin was on outlaw, exiled from his dwarf home because of his relationship with me, the insane part-human. Thorin was a prince who feared the weight of kingship, and I was his insane childhood friend. Thorin was a dwarven warrior who did not want any more part in war, and I was his insane wife who gave him the courage to leave. Thorin was secretly a short human and I was the real dwarf, and we had to leave our home when people discovered that I was insane. (Notice the one constant in all these stories.)

So, as we left, we were determined to live up to those rumors. (At least, I was determined, I don't know what Thorin thought, but I'm certain his thought process was identical to mine. We think alike so much, Thorin and I.)

Thorin had his majestic strut on, his pack strapped over his shoulders and his sword strapped at his side. His head was held high and his expression was that of a brooding man. In that one facial expression, he was the outlaw, the prince, the warrior, and the man. Everything they ever said about him, he was. Because Thorin is just that majestic.

And then there was me. My goal was defy everything they had ever rumored about me. I kept my head high and my face as cool as possible (Thorin watch in awe of my brooding expression!). I strolled casually alongside Thorin, occasionally tossing my long, blond hair over my shoulder and shoot some poor young man my sexy eyes (My signature move, the drowsy stare.) I'm sure the lads had lost their hearts forever.

"Ana," Thorin said.

"Yes, Hubby?" I asked, winking at Longshoe.

"You are making strange faces. Is it that time of the month again?"

"What—?"

My foot hit a stone oddly and I went crashing to the ground, face first. I screamed and threw my arms out to catch myself. Splat on the ground. I lay there for a moment, debating whether it was worth getting up and dying of embarrassment or should I just lay face down on the ground and wait to die of starvation. Either one resulted in a painful, humiliating death.

"I was trying to be sexy," I said.

"Why?" asked Thorin. "You have tried that before and you hurt yourself that time too. What did you say? Oh yes. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

And that, you see, is how I was forever known at the Insane Woman Who Wears Pants to the village of Bree. There was no escaping that name. Thorin had given it to me and I would keep it forever.

Another thing you should know about the art of leaving is _timing_. The moment you become dubbed the Insane Person, I think that's a good time to leave the village.

I figured the best way to leave, after making a fool of myself and tripping, was to stand up as quickly as possible and run as fast as I could out of the village. I got to my feet and promptly tripped again. That might have been one of the most embarrassing things in my life.

"Do you want some help?" asked Thorin.

"I'm good," I said. "I just like the ground so much. It's comfy. Maybe I'll just stay here."

"Come on," said Thorin. He leaned over, grabbed my backpack. He hauled me to my feet and, only when he was sure I wasn't going to fall over again, he let go. "You are a mess."

"Shut up," I said, crossing my arms. "It's a normal thing. It could have happened to anyone."

"But it only happened to you," said Thorin.

"You're a terrible hubby, Hubby," I said.

"I try."

I speed-walked the rest of the way out of Bree. Thorin strolled along beside me, an amused smirk on his face. He does enjoy my suffering. It was a relief to step out of the gates onto the dirt road and realized that I have left the rumor-filled village behind. I breathed the fresh air of the road.

"We're done," I said.

"With Bree? Yes," said Thorin. "But _done_—hardly."

"We'll never be done, really," I said. "But I'm glad, I think, to be done with Bree."

"Are you really?"

I glanced at him. I was smiling, though it didn't really feel as though I was smiling. "You don't feel it?"

Thorin looked at me questioningly, but he didn't say a word.

"That feeling," I said. "You get when you stay in one place for two long. That itching. That twisting feeling in your stomach. You want something to _move_. Something to happen. You don't want to buy fish from Rob the Fish Guy. You don't want to taste Lucy's pastries. You don't want to have conversations about last week with Longshoe the Boy Next Door. That feeling that you want to leave."

"I think," said Thorin. "The proper name for that is boredom."

I paused to consider this. "Yes. That's probably it. Bree was frigging _boring_."

"War is not boring," said Thorin, shifting the straps of his backpack.

"I hate war," I said. "I hate it when people die. When people die, it is pitiful and sad. But I would rather war than boredom."

Thorin glanced sidelong at me. He didn't say anything for a moment. A soft breeze ruffled his black hair and his blue eyes matched the morning sky. The same shade. He watched with those sky eyes, his face a mask. Then, he took a step forward and then another a step and soon he was walking along the dirt road, his eyes fixed ahead towards the rising sun.

"We have a long road ahead of us," he said.

"I'm coming, Hubby!"

Thorin turned and looked over his shoulder at me.

"Sorry," I said, grinning from ear to ear. "Last time, I promise."

Thorin turned around and continued walking. I hurried after him, still smiling.

"And so it begins," I said. "The Adventures of Ana and Thorin."

"Anren and Thorin," he said. "Balin now knows you as Anren. You must remain Anren amongst the dwarves."

"The Adventures of Anren and Thorin," I said. "I think we can make it work."

"If you walk too slow, I will leave you behind."

I tried to speed up a little. "I have short legs."

The look Thorin gave me was murderous.

I laughed. "Oh right. Dwarf."

* * *

**A/N: I have no idea what happened in this chapter. That's my only explanation. Sorry it took me so long to update, I was on vacation in Canada and then I'm working on an original novel (I'm about forty pages in). Anyway, I just love Ana and Thorin interactions. Please review. Because I love you and you love me and we're a great big happy reviewing family. **


	84. The Midges Have To Eat Too

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter IV: The Midges Have To Eat Too**

"Thorin. I _hate_ midges."

We were about two hours deep into Midgewater and the swamp showed no signs of ending. Midgewater was well named. There were more midges than water. I had walked through several clouds thick with buzzing insects and my exposed skin was pricked with the bites of midges. The journey was grueling with each step I sunk deeper into a soaked ground, the murky water seeping into my boots and filling my socks. Thorin had traveled through Midgewater before and he knew a path through that allowed us to not wade through the water—which was certainly filled with fish, eels, and leeches. I followed as closely behind Thorin as possible, trying to step only where he stepped. However, while Thorin moved with majestic ease, seemingly unaffected by the biting midges, I sludged through the swamp, battling the bugs as well as the humid heat. Needless to say, I was _not_ quite about the midges.

"Thorin. I _really _hate midges."

Thorin chose to ignore me. He stepped easily over a fall tree branch. I tried to do the same and my foot snagged on a patch of weeds. I took all my effort not to crash face forward into the swamp water. I staggered to the left, straightened up and turned around to glower at Thorin.

"_Why_ do we have to travel through freaking Midgewater!?"

Thorin didn't even pause to look back at me. He ducked under the blackened branch of dying tree stump and carried on walking along the edge of murky, brown swamp water. "I told you," he said. "This is the most direct route to my father's camp. We will cut through Midgewater and then cross through Weatherhills. If we keep up this pace, we may be able to spend a night under the shelter of Weathertop."

"I've been to Weathertop before," I grumbled. "Frodo almost died."

Thorin glanced over his shoulder at me and raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I remember. Hopefully, we will not have any funerals while we are these."

He hopped on a log to avoid touching the soggy ground and then lightly leapt back onto solid ground. I tried to copy his movement and missed the log entirely. My left foot sunk into the squishy ground, the wet grass clinging to my pants.

Thorin grasped my upper arm and hauled me out of the ground.

"You have not improved in the slightest," he said.

"You did not know me before I lived in Middle Earth," I said. "Boromir had to carry me everywhere."

"I pity Boromir," said Thorin.

I scoffed. "Boromir was a great man. Ten times the warrior you'll ever be."

"You are only saying that because he carried you up a mountain," said Thorin.

"Well, yes, be that doesn't change the fact that he _was_ a great man."

"I am not a man," said Thorin. "Therefore you cannot compare."

I sighed. "True. But if, in some alternate reality, Boromir was a dwarf, he would almost be as majestic as you."

"Almost," said Thorin.

"He'd at least have potential," I muttered. A midge landed on my neck and I swatted it away. "I hate midges!"

"We will leave Midgewater soon," said Thorin.

"What comes after Weatherhills?" I asked.

"My father's camp," said Thorin. "Balin told me that they would gather there and, in a month, they would cross the Trollshaws to Ettenmoore and Mount Gram."

"Trollshaws?" I asked, my voice going up an octave.

"Yes."

Another midge landed on my arm and took a deep bite of my pale skin. I smacked my arms—the sound cracking the thick swamp air—and the splatter of midge was left in the palm of my hand. I screwed up my face as I stared at the midge remains that left blood and little wing segments on my hand. After a moment of debate, I tried to wipe the midge off my hand using the back of Thorin's shirt.

"If I find any amount of midge of my shirt," said Thorin. "I will tie you up and hang you from a tree in Midgewater and let the midges have their fill of you."

I glanced at the midge remains on my hand and hastily used the side of my backpack to wipe it off. "I don't know what you're talking about, Thorin."

"Of course, you do not, Anren."

I groaned. "Stop calling me that."

"Watch out for the tree stump," said Thorin, sidestepping a gnarling, molding stump. "Do not look at it."

"Why ?" I asked.

And then I looked.

There it was.

Big. Black. Eight-legged. It was about the size of my hand with dozens of beady eyes staring at me. It was _furry_.

I screamed. "Thorin!"

"I told you not to look."

"It wants to _eat_ me!"

"It is a spider," said Thorin with an exasperated sigh. "It does not want to eat you, only suck your blood."

I screamed and jumped onto Thorin's back. "I don't want it to suck my blood! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

Thorin turned to look at me, trying to push me away, and then turned to look at the _massive_ spider that was sitting calmly on the molding tree stump.

"Why would I kill him? He has not tried to harm me," said Thorin.

"He's thinking about it!" I wailed.

Thorin sighed. "I am leaving."

"What?"

He started walking through the swamp again, bowing his head to avoid being caught in a spider web as he went. I shrieked and clamored after him. I kept glancing back over my shoulder in case the spider decided to make a move while my back was turned—you can't trust those things. They'll eat you as soon as they look at you.

"Thorin," I said, trying to lengthen my strides so that my feet fell in the exact places where he stepped. "Why aren't the midges bothering you?"

"They prefer to bite talkative women," said Thorin.

"Really?" I asked.

"No."

"Then, _why_? I hate midges. They've been snacking on me for the past two hours and you've just been strolling along like—Midges? What are those?—and it's not freaking fair!"

Thorin used a fall tree as a bridge to cross a patch of deep water. He bent his knees and slid across the log. My cross was more like a slug. About half way across the log, I gave up on grace and decided it was safest to wrap my arms and legs around the tree and inch my way along the log until I reached the other side. When I stood on solid ground again, I breathed a sigh of relief and brushed the pieces of wood and moss off my pants. Thorin stood over me, his face in a fixed scowl and that _look_ in his eyes. You know what look I'm talking about. It's his Are-You-Serious-Right-Now-Look. That look. I know it well.

"What?" I asked.

Thorin turned away from me and continued walking.

"What?" I asked again as I scampered after him. "Are you judging me?"

"Does it look that way?" asked Thorin.

"Yes," I said, stumbling over a rock hidden in the weed. "You have that judgy look in your eyes."

"I was not aware," said Thorin.

"Did I ever tell you that you have beautiful blue eyes?" I asked suddenly.

Though I could only see the back of Thorin's head, I could practically feel his eyes rolling.

"I'm not joking," I said. "This is a serious matter. Those blue eyes of yours are an important part of your majestic appearance. If you had brown eyes your brooding would not be the same. Blue eyes have like this whole I-Can-See-Into-The-Depths-Of-Your-Soul effect. Brown eyes just remind people of puppy dogs."

"Then why do you have blue eyes?" asked Thorin.

I was sidetracked for a second while a cloud of midges descended upon me and I had to swat them away before any of them tried to bite me of fly up my nose or mouth. Coughing and spluttering, I emerged from the cloud of midges and said, "Obviously because I am part majestic."

"That is the biggest lie I have ever heard," said Thorin.

I laughed. "Okay, okay, you caught me. I'm just genetically weird."

"That makes more sense." Thorin shifted his backpack. "We should be nearing the halfway point through Midgewater."

"_Halfway_?"

Thorin glanced over his shoulder. "Do you have a problem?" I could _see_ the smile playing at his lips.

"I hate midges!" I moaned just as one decided to take a bite into my neck.

"The midges need to eat too," said Thorin.

I swatted the bug away and then paused. Something snagged my attention out of the corner of my left eye. Something small and red danging from the branch of a twisted tree on the other side of the swamp. I paused. My heart stopped. My breathing contracted. Gasping breathes. Calm down, Ana. Some part of me wanted to turn and see what the red object that glittered in the dull sunlight was. Part of me want to turn and confirm that the flash of red was not what I thought it was. But then, there was another part—smaller and wiser—that knew not to turn. That to turn was only going to end with pain. And so, I took a deep breath and walked forward.

"What's the halfway marker?" I asked.

"A tree," said Thorin.

"There are lots of trees in Midgewater," I said. "That's hardly specific."

"It has three trunks," said Thorin.

"Oh."

I cannot tell you why I chose to ignore the warning in the back of my mind. I knew what was hanging from that tree and I knew why it was there. I just didn't want to admit it. I would rather walk in a straight line along the forced path of obliviousness than turn my head a little to the left and see the truth. I guess the answer is as simple as that. I just didn't want to know.

And that was probably a mistake.

"Thorin!" I screamed and tried to climb onto Thorin's back again.

"Get off me," said Thorin, shoving me away. "Did you see another spider again?"

I was panting and gasping for breath. I pointed wildly behind me at the patch of grass where the red gem had been sitting two minutes earlier. Thorin glanced over my shoulder at the grass and shook his head.

"The spider is gone," he said. "We have to keep moving."

I spun around and glared at the ground where the Senturiel had been moment before. "You _troll_." Then, I scampered forward to catch up with Thorin. I managed to get a while two feet before I saw the red gem glitter on the surface of the water. Unwillingly, I turned my head and saw the silver and gold locket that Future Thorin had given me floating on the surface of the water. The clasp was open and the red Senturiel reflected the white sunlight.

"Wah!" I flung my arms around Thorin's neck. "Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

"For the last time," said Thorin, prying me off of his shoulders. "The spider is not going to eat you."

"This is torture!" I screamed, still trying to hold onto Thorin as he tried to push me away., "Two hours! Two frigging hours and it won't frigging stop! Why won't it stop? What did I do wrong! I'm a good girl! I'm a good girl, honest!"

"What are you doing?" asked Thorin.

"I just wanted to be left alone!" I cried. "I was done! _Done_! Why can't you find someone else to bother?"

"Ana?"

"Stop it!"

I kicked the ground in a vague attempt to get away from the Senturiel. The movement knocked me off my feet, which knocked me into Thorin. Both of us were thrown backwards. Thorin tried to grab onto something—grass, a tree branch—but he missed and we both landed with a heavy splash in the dark water.

I sat up, water drilling from my blond hair and some weed hanging down the side of my face. I looked around wildly. I could not see a glint of red anywhere. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe, after two hours of relentless torture, the Senturiel had decided to give up.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Thorin sat up. The water came up to his chest and his black hair was matted to his face, strands sticking to his wet cheeks. Water dripped down in front of his eyes and his backpack was soaked—which meant all the food and clothes were ruined.

I managed a light laugh. "It was a really _big_ spider." (Maybe if I didn't talk about it, it would go away.)

"And that really _big_ spider has been following us for _two hours_?" asked Thorin. He pushed his dripping hair out of his eyes with his right hand.

I smiled sheepishly. "It was out for revenge. Maybe I killed the spider's midge-lover."

Thorin stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, he turned around and waded through the water. He grasped hold of a tree branch that was dangling out over the water's surface. He gripped the branch and used it to haul himself out of the muddy, murky water. I stood there for a moment, watching him slide back onto land and try to drain as much water out of his clothes and the backpack as possible.

I was still in the water, the ripples brushing against my chest. I realized that I was slowly sinking deeper into the muddy bottom. I tried to get closer to the branch and use it to haul myself out of the water; however, my feet were stuck in the mud and I couldn't move an inch.

"Thorin!" I cried.

He turned to me. The look he gave me was so venomous, I thought he might actually try and drown me in Midgewater. "What?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Help? I think I'm stuck."

Thorin stared at me for a moment and then sat down on a tree stump. He folded his arms over his chest and smiled. "This should be entertaining."

"You're so mean!" I wailed. I tried to fight against the consuming mud, but the more I struggled, the deeper I sank into the water. Soon, the mud had enveloped me up to my knees and my chin bobbed just above the surface.

"This isn't funny," I told Thorin.

"I find it highly amusing," said Thorin. "You did willingly jump in to the water."

"I was trying to get away from the spider!" I cried.

"Were you really?" asked Thorin."

I nodded. "It was a big, black spider. It was huge! Bigger than the last one! I was coming to eat us—both of us! You may be impervious to the midges, but spiders are a whole different matter—believe me, I've seen Future You on spider poison. It is _not_ a pretty sight."

Thorin leaned forward and rested his chin on his clasped hands. "Why do I not believe you?"

I frowned. "I'm not lying. Future You really does get bitten by a giant spider."

"Not about that," said Thorin. "I do not think that you are so afraid of spiders that you would jump into the swamp."

"I'm pretty afraid of spiders," I said. "Like _really_ afraid. I would rather live in a box with a thousand midges than be within ten feet of a spider."

Thorin raised his eyebrows. "You really do not like spiders."

"So will you help me out of the water?" I asked hopefully.

"But," said Thorin, ignoring my words. "You tried to climb on my back for two hours without asking me to kill the spider. Which causes me to believe that this spider does not exist."

"It was a poisonous spider," I said. "I could not risk your majestic life."

"I think," said Thorin. "I can handle a spider."

I snorted. "That just goes to show how many spiders _you_ have faced."

"Ana."

I tried to smile up at him, but when I moved my head, the murky water splashed in my face and I think I might have swallowed some of the swamp water. "Yes, Thorin?"

"What has been following you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Thorin. A spider has been following me, Thorin."

"You are a terrible liar, Ana."

"I know, Thorin."

"Ana."

"Thorin?"

He sighed and got to his feet. "You are too stubborn for your own good."

To my relief, he held out a hand. I reached up and caught hold of his fingertips. He hauled me out of the water, breaking my legs free of the clinging mud as though it took no effort at all. I let out a yelp of delight as me feet struck solid ground and I gave a little victory dance.

"You look ridiculous," said Thorin, sliding his soaking wet backpack from his shoulders.

"I'm alive," I said, clapping my hands excitedly. "Look at the sun! Look at the clouds! Look at the tree stump! Look at the grass! Look at the midges! Isn't it good to be alive!"

"Look out for the midges," said Thorin.

"Well," I said. "If we ignore the midges, it's great to be alive."

Thorin rummaged through the backpack and the groaned. "The food is ruined." He pulled out a piece of bread that was dripping wet and crumbled in his hand.

"It's not that bad," I said, taking the piece from him. "I think we can still eat it." I broke the bread in half. One half collapsed in my hand so I extended the hand with the dripping bread still intact to Thorin.

He stared at the break and frowned. "What's that?"

"What's what?" I asked. I lifted my hand to see the bread better. The soggy white of the break was slowly falling apart, breaking over the top of what looked to be a red gemstone and a golden chain.

I screamed and threw the bread as far away from me as I could.

"Leave me alone!" I jumped into Thorin's arms, knocking him to the ground.

"Will you stop doing that!?" he shouted.

"It's in the food now!" I wailed. "Nothing is safe! It won't frigging go away! I can't eat anymore or sleep—what if it gets in my bed!?"

"What is it?" asked Thorin, trying to shove me away.

I spun around and stared at him. "Do you not know?'

"I only got a glimpse," said Thorin.

A shudder ran down my spine and I stared across the swamp in the direction I had thrown the break. "The Senturiel has returned."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry it took me awhile to update. I've been playing Assassin's Creed 3. (I want 4 to come out. It has a freaking pirate assassin in it. Just think about it! Pirate. Assassin. That's epic right there. Pirate. Assassin.) Anyway, I'm going crazy with part two. I don't even know what goes through my head as I write anymore. Oh well. I had fun writing this chapter. Any chapter where Ana goes crazy is fun. I hope you had fun reading it. Please review. It's about the love. **


	85. A Funeral To Celebrate

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO: AnkaraJace, The Smiling Angel, WielderOfBlade, Concha G, Elvish Cupcake, eddudling, Jynxychan, Oreo the Leviathan, Gwen Eruanna, Meril-chan o Lorien, , Thorin's majesty, and many, many other people (whose name I am too lazy to go find but they should know who they are because they reviewed this story) for motivating me to write.**

**Also, because I've been asked this many times: I LOVE it when people go back and review every chapter. Even if it's a hundred chapter story. I LOVE hearing what people think even if it's about chapter one or chapter eight-five. I LOVE my reviewers. **

* * *

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter Five: A Funeral To Celebrate**

When we entered Weatherhills and stared making our way through the deep gaps between of the rolling hills towards the Weathertop, I became—how should I describe it?—_twitchy. _Frodo had been stabbed on top of Weathertop, surrounded by Ringwraiths. And even though, I _knew_ that the Sauron was not an influence on Middle Earth at this point in time, it still sent shivers down my spine. I kept glancing over my shoulder in case a black clad Ringwaith decided to show up.

Of course, I was still being stalked by something far scarier that a Ringwraith. The damned Senturiel.

"We have not seen it in a while," said Thorin. He glanced up at the darkening sky. "At least since midday."

I huffed and puffed (Thorin was much more in shape than I was—damn him!) as we trudged up the side of a hill to reach the watchtower, Weathertop. At the top of the steep, green slop, I could see the ruins of the stone fortress—it was a long way away.

"Can't we just sleep in the grass?" I asked, taking heavy breaths between in word.

"Only you would prefer the grass," said Thorin.

I snorted. "On a scale of one to the Adventures of Ana and Thorin—how far have you walked today?"

"How many times have you mentioned the Adventures of Ana and Thorin?"

"We haven't fought any trolls yet," I said. "It's not an adventure until we fight a troll."

"And you are an expert on fighting trolls?" asked Thorin, glancing over his shoulder at me.

I waggled my finger at Thorin's back. "When I travelled with the Fellowship, we fought a troll in Moria, and when I travelled with the Company, we fought three trolls on our way to Rivendell."

"From what I remember of the stories you told me, you did not fight them, but rather ran away screaming."

I scowled. "It's a battle tactic to confuse the enemy. Like when you meet a bear in the woods and you do some kind of crazy tribal dance to make yourself seem big and frightening to get the bear to run away. Proven successful tactic."

"And you have tested and proven this to work?" asked Thorin.

"No," I said. "But my friend Amy went to Canada and she said it worked on a grizzly bear."

"I would not recommend that strategy," said Thorin.

"Well," I said. "Not all of us can be master swordsmen."

"You have a crossbow." Thorin glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "As long as there are only nine targets to shoot, you are safe."

"I hate you," I said.

Laughing, Thorin picked up his walking pace and I found myself falling behind. I cried out to Thorin to slow down. But he ignored me (damn him a second time!). My legs felt like led and whole body seemed to weigh me down more. I was like a slug trying to win a marathon. Step by agonizing step. Slow. Slower. Stopping. Stopped.

I collapsed into the grassy hillside and refused to move. Never had grass felt like a comfortable bed. Soft. Comfy. Love.

I opened my eyes—and screamed.

There, nestled into the grass, was the glittering, red Senturiel.

"Stop! Thorin!" I pushed off from the ground and sprinted up the hillside so fast that I left Thorin in the dust. "Stop it! Stop it! It won't leave me alone!"

Thorin turned around, trying to see what I was running from, but the red Senturiel had vanished once again. He turned back to me, his lips twitched with a smile.

"It isn't funny!" I shrieked.

"The Senturiel really likes you," said Thorin.

I jumped on his back and wailed into his long, soft hair. (Do you _know_ how soft his hair is? That thing would make an amazing pillow—or blanket…) "Why won't it leave me alone? Find some other victim to drag through time and space, _please_!"

"It is gone," said Thorin.

"Not for long," I muttered. I reluctantly climbed down from his back. "Can you just piggyback me up the hill?"

"No."

I sighed. "You're so rude."

Thorin raised his eyebrows and gave me a skeptical glare, but said nothing. He shifted his backpack and continued climbing up the hill. With a groan I followed after him, my legs on fire with the pain.

"So far the Adventures of Ana and Thorin have been pretty lame," I said. "Walking. Walking. Walking. Midges. Walking. Walking. Stalked by the creepy Senturiel. More walking."

Thorin snorted. "What do you thing the Fellowship and the Company did while you were not there? When you had the Senturiel, it edited out all the walking parts of the adventure."

"And it's at times like these that I almost miss the Senturiel," I said. "And then I remember that it made my life hell and distorted my personality beyond repair and then I'm willing to do all this walking."

"I do not think you can blame your personality on the Senturiel."

"Watch me try."

Thorin rolled his eyes and turned around. He continued walking up the hill, leaving me standing silently. I watched Thorin's majestic swagger as he strolled casually up the leg-breaking slope as easily as it were a stroll in the park. I allowed myself a moment to damn Thorin to the deepest and least majestic pits of hell for the third time before hurrying to catch up with him.

It was a relief to finally—and I mean _finally_—reach Weathertop. I stumbled through the grey stone ruins and collapsed onto a seat-sized rock. My backpack slid from my shoulders and landed on the ground. I leaned back, stretching my arms over my head, sighing with relief. Weathertop was _not_ a five-star hotel. It was what it was supposed to be—the ruins of an old watchtower. All that remained of the watchtower were parts of the once strong stone wall and the traces of decorative architecture. There was half a pillar with a curving, sculpted base. There were parts of carved arches. There were the faded remnants of a painted tile floor. Weathertop was a ghost of what it once was and it provided enough shelter for two travelers to spend the night and that was all.

Well, three travelers if you count the Senturiel.

The scene went something like this: Thorin was cooking dinner—he makes a nice stinging nettle soup (meal choices are limited on the road and apparently cooking stinging nettles takes out all the sting). So while he was crouched over a low burning fire, stirring the soup every once in a while, I sat in the corner with my knees pulled up to my chest, rocking backward and forward. (I promise you, I am not crazy—I had just seen the Senturiel three times since arriving at Weathertop.)

"Why won't it leave me alone?" I wailed. "What did I do in my previous life to deserve this?"

"You did throw the Senturiel into a volcano," said Thorin.

"That's no reason for it to torture me!" I groaned and pressed my forehead against my knees. "You would think that the same lava that destroyed the Ruling Ring would also destroy the Senturiel, but _no_ The Senturiel had to be freaking stronger than the freaking Ring of Power."

"The Senturiel is a gift from the Valar," said Thorin. "I would hope their craftsmanship is better than that of Sauron."

"True that," I said. "But still—_why must this thing follow me everywhere_?"

"You might try to prevent it from following us further," said Thorin. "Rather than scream and run away every time you see it."

"Running away is a tactic that has worked for me in the past," I said.

Thorin gave the soup another stir and picked up one of the wooden bowls we had brought with us. He poured some of the bright green soup into the bowl and handed it to me along with a rough, metal spoon. I took the bowl reluctantly, afraid that there might be a glimmer of red amongst the green. Thankfully, the Senturiel did not take a swim in my soup and I ate hungrily. Thorin made himself a bowl and settled into a comfortable position to eat.

"I am not made for the outdoors," I said. "Too many midges and too many spiders."

"It is a shame you live in Middle Earth then," said Thorin.

"Hey," I said. "If Middle Earth had coffee, then I would brave any midge's lair."

Thorin's eyebrows shot up. "But you would not brave a spider's lair."

"I've fought giant spiders before—it doesn't end well." I took a huge bite of soup.

"If my memory serves me correctly," said Thorin. "You abandoned Future Me to be eaten by the spiders of Mirkwood."

I laughed nervously. "What? I don't remember that?"

Thorin said nothing as he ate his soup. At this moment in the story, I would like make note that Thorin Oakenshield—though he was not known as Oakenshield at this point in time—even eats majestically. This sort of brooding look crosses his face and he stares deep into his bright green soup as though it may contain the secrets of his tragic past. Thorin slowly scoops out a spoonful—more like spoon-two-thirds-full—and carefully lifts the spoon to his mouth. Thorin carefully consumes to soup on the spoon without spilling so much of a drop on his beard. Then, he lowers the spoon back into the bowl for some more majestic brooding in the depths of stinging nettle soup.

"I have never seen a dwarf eat so daintily as you," I said. "Usually, they throw food everywhere, laugh, belch, tell crude bathroom jokes, tell crude elf jokes, tell crude your mother jokes—they definitely don't explore the philosophical tragedies in the bottom of their soup bowls."

"Would you like me to throw my soup bowl at your head?" asked Thorin. "Would that make you feel more at home?"

I gasped. "But that would be a waste of perfectly good stinging nettle soup!"

And that's when _it_ decided to reappear. On the ground. Right next to my precious left foot. A glittering red gemstone about the size of my thumbnail. The Senturiel.

You would have been proud of me. I didn't scream. I didn't run away. I didn't jump into Thorin's arms begging him to save me. No, I was a good girl. I stared at the Senturiel for a moment, trying to ignore the pounding fear in my chest. And, slowly, softly, I said, "Thorin. I see the Senturiel. What should I do?"

And Thorin, being the reliable Thorin that he was, said, "You can capture it. The Senturiel only Skips you away when it is in contact with your skin. If you capture it with your cloak, we can be rid of it."

I picked up my discarded cloak and placed the fabric over my hand. I crouched over the Senturiel, cloak-covered hand at the ready, I prepared to strike. I spared one last hopeful glance at Thorin, before I grabbed hold of the Senturiel. I could feel it hard, circular form through the rough cloth of the cloak.

"I got it," I said with a yelp of surprise. "I actually got it."

Thorin did not compliment me (not that I was hoping he would, not at all), but he nodded his head in approval—which, for Thorin, was practically high praise coming from him.

I glanced down at my hand and then back up at Thorin. "Now what?"

* * *

We ended up burying it on the grassy hilltop outside the ruins of Weathertop. The moon was full and provided just enough light from grave digging. It was a gorgeous night for a funeral. Not a cloud in the sky. Just a vast, black ocean with one silver ball and a few scattered stars. The temperature was mild with the barest hint of a breeze rustling through the grass and our hair. As we finished packing the dirt over the hole we had dug with our dinner spoons, I couldn't help be feel melancholy. I mean, I don't think either one of us really expected the grave to hold back the Senturiel, but perhaps we hoped the stupid rock would get the message—we don't want it around. But still, there was this twinge of resignation in me. I knew that the Senturiel would follow me even from its grave. It's just that kind of rock.

"A funeral at Weathertop," said Thorin.

"It's good to see him go," I said.

"How is it that you decided a gemstone should be masculine?" asked Thorin. The way he glared at me, you would think that he didn't actually want to know why I had decided the gender of a rock. Like he might have to cart me off to a psych ward if I gave him a serious answer.

"The Senturiel," I said trying to sound as serious as possible. "Is a sassy gay rock. Can't you see it? Every time I Skip somewhere, there's this image of the Senturiel in the back of my mind of the Senturiel snapping his fingers and saying that mama knows what's best for me so I had better shut up and go along with whatever mama says." I paused. "In my imagination, the Senturiel refers to himself as my mama."

"Your imagination is a more fearsome place than the deepest, darkest caverns of Moria," said Thorin.

I snapped my fingers. "Oh, little girl—you just got owned by a dwarf who was brooding when the wind changed directions and his face got stuck that way."

Thorin stared.

"Sorry," I said. "I was still channeling sassy gay Senturiel."

"Do not do that again." Thorin considered for a second. "Ever."

"Yes, Your Majesty." I saluted him because I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to do in front of His Majesty. Maybe bow. Actually, looking back on it, I am pretty sure I was supposed to bow in front of His Majesty. Or curtsey—since I am, believe it or not, female.

"Well," said Thorin, turning away from the grave. "We should catch some sleep before the sun rises. Otherwise, you will complain for the entire day tomorrow about how tired and hungry you are."

"Wait," I said.

Thorin waited.

"Shouldn't we say a few words?"

Thorin turned around to stare at me.

"It _is_ a funeral," I said. "Even if it is a funeral to celebrate, it wouldn't be proper to leave him without saying farewell."

Thorin glared at me.

"Please?" I tried to put on my best puppy dog expression.

Thorin marched back across the grass to the graveside. He stood over the little patch of brown dirt amongst the sea of grass. He glared down at the grave and said, "Farewell, Senturiel. May you never rise again."

"That wasn't very heartfelt!" I cried.

I swear I saw Thorin's right eye twitch. He turned to me, his blue eyes venomous, and said, "What would you like me to say, Anren?"

"About what a pretty shade of red the Senturiel is, about how he did save my life on multiple occasions—though he also put me in danger on multiple occasions too—about how it's nice that he brought us together even after I threw him in a volcano. And we do appreciate how much he likes me, but I can't handle any more of his Skipping and this had to be done."

Thorin stared.

"Well?" I said. "Are you going to tell him?"

"You just said everything that needs to be said."

"Yes," I said. "But I want you to say it."

Thorin stared.

"Please?" I summoned up another pathetic puppy-dog stare.

"Stop," said Thorin. "You are burning my eyes from my skull." He turned to the grave and, gritting his teeth, addressed the dirt. "You are a nicely cut gemstone that the dwarves of Erebor would be pleased to add to their collection. Thank you for saving Ana's life on multiple occasions and thank you, after all she's been through, for bringing Ana to Bree to meet me—because I didn't have enough catastrophes in my life. I cannot understand why you would want to be reunited with this walking and talking catastrophe, but I do understand that she does not what to Skip with you anymore. We hope that this drastic measure of burying you will not be seen as an offense, but as our way of saying farewell and do not follow us anymore—Are you pleased now? Can we return to Weathertop and sleep?"

The last part of Thorin's farewell speech was addressed to me. I tore my watery eyes (I did not cry because of Thorin's eloquent speech! I did not!) away from the grave and smiled at Thorin.

"Now can you sing a dirge?" I asked innocently. "It might put the Senturiel at ease to hear your majestic singing voice."

"I am going to sleep," said Thorin, walking back to the ruins of Weathertop.

"Please!" I cried, chasing after him. "You know, I haven't given up on the idea of a Middle Earth boy band!"

* * *

**A/N: I'm going to be honest with you. I considered deleting Part Two of the Skipper and ending it with Part One. I was on vacation, I haven't updated in a over a month, I'm about to go on vacation again, I'm still moving, this story was on the wrong computer (the one that got packed), I'm still working on an original novel, I'm just about to start college in a city where I know a whole one person and I really don't know if I can write another sixty chapter fanfiction. But then, I got home from vacation and said, "Hey, you know what I really want to write?" and here we are with chapter five. **


	86. Anren the WitchProphetSeer

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter Six: Anren The Witch/Prophet/Seer**

When we entered the dwarven camp, Thorin made me where the hood of my dark green cloak up over my head. I understood _why_ I had to wear my hood up (if anyone from the Company saw my face now, they might recognize me in the future and that could make things difficult for younger hair is not a pretty picture. According to my dear friend Nick, on bad hair days, I resemble a rabid porcupine.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic here. It took Thorin and I another day and a half to reach the dwarves camp. I was exhausted. My back ached. My legs ached. My neck ached. My arms ached. My stomach ached. (Too much stinging nettle soup.) My head ached. My cloak was stained with travel from head to toe and my boots were coated in mud. My leather pants (no matter what people tell you—not comfortable!) had rubbed my skin raw. There were shadows under my eyes that would put Ringwraiths to shame.

With my hood covering my face and my staggering, exhausted walk, I looked like a corpse come back from the dead—which is probably why a red-haired dwarf pointed his axe at me the moment I came near the dwarven camp.

"Wah!"

I took one look at the sharp end of the axe, screamed, and jumped into Thorin's arms. Or, at least, I tried to jump into Thorin's arms. He stepped back so that I fell onto the ground with a heavy thud.

"Brede son of Baldor of the Broadbeams," said Thorin. "I have not seen you in an age."

"Thorin son of Thrain," said the stocky dwarf named Brede. He lowered his axe slightly and his dark green eyes glowed with welcome. "You have become taller."

"I thought you had become shorter," said Thorin.

A grin cracked beneath Brede's red beard and he opened his arms to embrace Thorin in a very dwarven hug. When they separated, Thorin acknowledged my existence.

"This is Anren," said Thorin. "She has been my traveling companion for the past two years. She has come to join our cause."

"She is a woman," said Brede as I got to my feet. Brede frowned. "And she is wearing the pants of a man."

"Pants are more convenient," I said. "Though this leather is going to be the death of me. If I can't find somewhere to sit down and rest my legs, back, butt, and just about every other inch of me, I will show you just how dangerous a woman who wears pants like a man can be."

I swear I saw Thorin smile out of the corner of my eye, but that could have just been my imagination.

"Balin son of Fundin did bring news of your, um, strange companion," said Brede. "But we did not think she would come."

"I always come," I said. "Thorin and I, we're joined at the hip."

"No, we are not," said Thorin. He turned to Brede. "Take us to my father's tent."

Brede grinned and turned around, already marching across the flat grassland toward the colorful array of raised tents, horses, fires, and armed dwarves. Brede and Thorin walked side by side while I had to scuttle along behind them. I tried to get Thorin's attention so he could make room for me at his side, but Thorin either didn't see me or was ignoring me for his own amusement—I'm not sure which.

As we entered the camp, heads and beards turned in our direction. I don't know if they were staring because of Thorin's arrival (his father was the one, after all, who called all these dwarves together) or because of me (the woman wearing pants and joining the battlefield with men). I caught sight of Gloin and Oin standing amongst the crowd and was relieved that I still had my hood pulled up. The less members of the company who saw me, the better.

"Your father has brought together all of the dwarven clans," said Brede, ignoring the attention he was receiving and talking only to Thorin. "Broadbeams, Firebeards, Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, and Stonefoots—they all answered the Longbeards' call. We're going to march north soon. To Gundabag, my father says."

"Have the kings come with their clans?" asked Thorin.

"Some have come," said Brede. "King Gudrun of the Firebeards sent only a few men with his second son, Hedrun, in command. King Olvar I has aged beyond his warring years. He sent his eldest son, Fenvar with numerous troops. The Ironfists have long despised the orcs of the Misty Mountains. King Hafdain of the Stonefoots remains heirless and will not risk his own hide in war—he sent his brother Herleif instead. But the other kings have come. My father, King Baldor of the Broadbeams, and King Nord of the Blacklocks brought his heir, Knute, along with him. And Dagnur of the Stiffbeards has come with his heir, Alaric. We have all answered to your father's cry, Thorin. We are here and we will fight."

"My father must be pleased," said Thorin.

"I don't know what's going on," I said. "All I know is you just sprouted out a bunch of names that made no sense to me."

Brede and Thorin looked over their shoulders at me. Thorin was, as always, the tallest dwarf present. He could actually glare _down_ at me (which is saying something since it isn't common for a dwarf to be able to look down on someone). But Brede was short enough that I was tall in comparison and being taller than someone generally makes their glare a lot less threatening.

"Who are you?" asked Brede.

"I _am_ a dwarf," I said, as if that proved something.

"She is one-quarter dwarf," said Thorin.

I grinned. "I'm that awkward relative that no one in the family likes to talk about."

Brede turned to Thorin and, as though I were not standing right behind him, said, "_What_ is she?"

"I am not sure myself," said Thorin as they continued strolling through the camp as a leisurely pace. "I suspect she may be a cross between a human, a dwarf, and some kind of rabid dog, but there is no way to be certain."

"Oh, that's it," I said, prodding Thorin in the back of the shoulder. "I'm revoking your majestic card."

"What is a majestic card?" asked Brede.

At the same time, Thorin turned around and stared at me. It was his usual brooding stare. The kind of stare that makes you think that he is a noble soul with a troubled past who is struggling with his inner demons but secretly has a soft side that he is afraid to show and you can see his kingliness upon his brow and you know that he is fighting in his own way to find himself. It was _that_ brooding stare.

"God damn it," I said. "You're too freaking majestic for me to handle. You can have your majestic card back! You can have it back!"

Thorin smirked and turned back to Brede.

"How have the Broadbeams fared over the last few years?"

Brede was still recovering from his confusion. "Well enough, I suppose." He blinked and shook his head. "There are too few of us. Ever since the War of Wrath, we have been unable to bring back our former glory. We are small in numbers, but we have no lost our heart nor our skill with blades." Brede smiled wearily. "I have served as an armorer in the Blue Mountains for the past ten years. The pay is poor, but at least I can practice my swordsmanship. Have you fared better over the years, my friend?"

"I have been working as a blacksmith in the village of Bree for the past two years," said Thorin.

"I've been his assistant," I added from behind Thorin.

They both ignored me.

"It has been tiring work," said Thorin. "But rewarding. Bree is an, for lack of a better word, interesting place to live."

"They love to gossip in Bree," I said. "They thought Thorin and I were married. And they thought I was some weird half-male, half-female thing when I first arrived there because I like to wear pants."

"Does she always talk out of turn?" asked Brede.

Thorin smirked at me over his shoulder.

I spent a minute debating whether or not I should jump on Thorin's back and make him acknowledge my existence, but before I could reach a decision, we arrived outside King Thrain's tent. As the dwarf who called together the armies of the different dwarf clans, Thrain had the largest tent. It was deep red in color with the etched designs of gold in the fabric. Brede paused outside the tent and stepped back to allow Thorin to enter first. Thorin pushed the tent flap out of his way and stepped inside. I caught a flash of a tall dwarf—not quite as tall as Thorin, but taller than the average dwarf—dressed in shimmer red armor. Then, the tent flap closed behind Thorin.

I moved forward to follow Thorin into the tent, but Brede stepped between me and the opening.

"You should not interrupt the reunion of a father and a son," said Brede.

"Please," I said. "Thorin's father is my father. And poor Thrain hasn't met his loveable daughter yet—it's a tragedy!"

I tried to step past Brede, but he gave me a hard shove away from the tent entrance. I stumbled backwards and almost tripped over a rock hidden in the grass. I managed to catch myself before doing an embarrassing face plant. I stood upright and glowered at Brede with all my might.

"What is your problem?" I snapped. "Did your mother drop you on your head when you were little? Did you not get enough love as a child? Do you have a crush on Thorin and you can't bear to see anyone get close to him besides yourself?"

"You do not belong here," said Brede.

I crossed my arms. "It's because you have a crush on Thorin, isn't it?"

"I do not understand the words you speak," said Brede.

"I know Middle Earth isn't nearly as accepting of same-sex relationships as my world is, but I want you to know that if both you and Thorin are willing to enter such a relationship, I have no problem with it," I said. "I have a friend named Raoul—well, that's not his real name, but his real name was lame so I changed it to Raoul—and he's gay. The problem is that he's ridiculously hot and it's such a shame for women all over the world—especially me—that he's gay. Actually, it would be such a shame for woman all over Middle Earth if Thorin was gay. I don't think he's gay—is he gay?" I frowned. "I don't think I've ever seen him with a dwarf-woman. But there aren't too many dwarf-women so that might just be a matter of not having met the right dwarf-woman yet."

Brede was staring at me. His lips were parted and there was a vacant expression on his face as though he had zoned out long ago and was still trying to figure out what I meant by "my world" rather than listen to the rest of my speech.

I am not ashamed to say that I took advantage of his confusion to dive past him and through the tent flaps.

Except, as I entered Thrain's tent, I tripped over Brede's foot as he tried to stop me from reach Thorin. I lost my balance, caught hold of Brede's arm to keep myself from face planting, and then dragged Brede to the ground with me.

We landed in a pile—Brede and me—at Thorin's feet. I opened my eyes and stared past Brede's red head to see Thorin glaring down at me. He was angry at me for some reason. Why was he angry? I didn't get it.

"You know how to make an entrance for yourself," said Thorin, his voice taut with irrtation. "Though your timing is dreadful."

"_You_!" Brede didn't seem to know how to insult me. He push off the ground and disentangled himself from me. He stood over me, his eyes burning with hatred. "You have no common sense!"

"She has never possessed common sense," said Thorin.

At this point, I was still lying on my back. The blades of grass prickled against my neck as I stared up at Thorin. There is something incredibly inspiring abut looking at someone from a different angle. Staring up at Thorin from the floor made me realize just how tired he looked in that moment. He wasn't so much angry with me as he was exhausted. Maybe walking from Bree had been harder on him than I had thought.

But then, Thorin's eyes flickered to the right and I saw that dwarven king standing beside Thorin. Thrain had the same black hair as his son and his hair was braided and entwined with silver beads. There was even a faint majestic heir to Thrain as he stood, head held high, in his dark red armor with a bejeweled sword strapped at his side. Thrain's eyes were black (Thorin must have gotten his blue eyes from his mother) and held a colder stare than I had ever seen in Thorin.

So this, I realized, was the cause of Thorin's exhaustion. For the first time, it occurred to me that Thorin and his father might not have that great of a relationship. Thorin must have been in Bree, separated from the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain for a reason, and perhaps that reason was standing in the tent just a little bit to Thorin's right.

I leapt to my feet and grinned broadly at Thrain. "Hello, sir, my name is Ana—ren. Anren. I'm BFFs with your son, Thorin here." I patted Thorin fondly on the shoulder. He rolled his eyes at me and I laugh. "He pretends we aren't friends, but _I_ know the truth."

Thrain was glaring at me. I found another thing that Thorin had in common with his father—they both have incredible glaring skills.

I smiled through the death glare and continued talking. "I lived with Thorin for the past two years in this cute little village called Bree until the call from Balin brought us to join your war. I'm good with a crossbow and I have this little knife thing called the Sword Breaker that I use—I've fought in wars before and I semi-competent when I'm not scared out of my wits and I hope you'll have me in your army and if you say no then I'll take Thorin with me and leave." I smiled extra big at the end of my speech.

Thrain's glare was broken a little by his confusion. He turned to Thorin and then turned back to me. "Are you threatening the King Under the Mountain?"

"I'm not capable of threatening," I said cheerfully. "I'm pretty sure you could kill me if you wanted to."

Thrain ignored me and turned to Thorin, his black eyes flashing. "Is this what you have lowered yourself to over the past decade? You worked as a blacksmith in Bree while living with this human without gender?"

"I object to that phrase," I said. "I'm part dwarf."

Thrain continued to ignore me, all his attention focused on the silent Thorin. "Do you think you have done the Longbeards proud? You abandoned your duties and left your people when they had need of you—do you think you can return to avenge your grandfather without guilt? You abandoned him like you abandoned your people. What right do you have to stand before me and say that you will fight in your grandfather's memory?" Thrain was seething.

Thorin said nothing. A wall of ice covered his face and he stared at his father without blinking.

"Do not think you can escape this," said Thrain. "Perhaps if you had not left us, your grandfather would not have returned to Khazad-dum."

"I do not think you can blame Thror's death on Thorin," said Brede softly.

"Thank you!" I cried, throwing my hand up in the air. "Twenty Cool Points to Brede for saying what all of us were thinking."

"Cool Points?" asked Brede

"You don't know what the CPS is?" I asked, gasping. Then, I sighed and shook my head. "Brede son of Baldor of the Broadbeams—you are _so_ not majestic."

Thorin's mouth twitched.

Brede face contorted with a mixture of confusion and rage.

"Majesty is such a valuable thing," I said, turning to Thrain. "Every dwarf should at least possess some majestic potential. Take Balin for example. He has majestic potential. Not a lot. It's only visible when he is fighting a particularly difficult battle—but the potential exists. Now take Thorin for example—Thorin is overflowing with majesty. He is the epitome of majesty. Everything he does from cooking dinner to singing to tripping is done with one-hundred-and-ten-percent majesty. It's beautiful to watch. Thorin has unleashed his majestic potential and has brought to Middle Earth the true meaning of the word majestic."

I took a deep breath. God, I need more time to breathe in my motivational speeches.

"You," I said. "Thrain, as King Under the Mountain who gather together all of the dwarven clans to help you avenge your father's death at the hands of the Misty Mountain orcs, possess some majesty. You do not have only potential, but real majesty. It's part of being a legitimate king. However, you are a shame to majesty. Your CPS is somewhere in the negative thousands—you are lower than Denethor the steward of Gondor on the CPS and do you want to know _why_. You dare insult Thorin. What do you know of Thorin's life? You call him a disappointment? Thorin is the greatest dwarf to ever live. That mountain in the distance that you stare at so longingly. That mountain that was taken from you. Than mountain will be returned to your people by Thorin himself. Thorin is a leader and a king, and you will die alone in a prison."

Silence.

Dead silence followed my words.

Then, and only then, did I realize what I had just said.

The future should never be known. Shoot. Shoot. Shoot. I had just revealed the future. Shit.

I laughed—a nervous wild sound. "What? What are we talking about? Majesty?" Another awkward laugh. "I'm a majesty nut—just ask Thorin." More laughter. "Ignore me. I'm just a crazy person. Ignore." I moved to cowered behind Thorin.

"What words have just passed through her lips?" asked Thrain.

"None," I said. "I'm a stupid, crazy woman. No words. No words. Just weird flapping sounds."

"Anren," said Thorin, glancing over his shoulder at me.

"How does she know these things?" asked Brede.

"I don't know anything," I squeaked.

And Thorin—_brilliant_ Thorin—came to my rescue. He turned back to his father and said, "There is a reason that Anren had lived in Bree with me these past two years and there is a reason I have brought Anren to the battlefield now. Anren daughter of Galin is a witch who can see the future."

I screamed. (Bad memories cause me to do that.) "Not a witch! Not a witch! The last time someone called me a witch they tried to sacrifice me to a dragon!"

Thorin sighed. "What would you like me to call you then?"

"Prophet," I said, crossing my arms and grinning up at him.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It will go to your head." Thorin turned back to Thrain. "She is a seer."

"Anren the Seer," I said. "I'm quite famous in the south."

"I have never heard of you," said Thrain.

"Obviously you haven't been far enough south," I said smugly.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed chapter six - I had fun writing it. Um, The War of the Dwarves and Orcs is a legitimate piece of Middle Earth history. I'm altering it for the sake of this fanfiction, but I will stay as true to Tolkien history as possible. The dwarven clans are all legitimate, but the kings and their sons are all made up by me. And yes, I'm making up the conflict between Thorin and his father because we all know Thorin needs more problems in his life - that's why his brooding is so impressive. **

**Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter and of life in general!**

**Also, go back and read Chapter Eight: Majesty Always Ruins The Party. **


	87. Walk, Talk, Sit, Stand, Eat Like A Dwarf

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter VII: Walk, Talk, Sit, Stand, Eat, Dress Like A Dwarf**

Thorin was in a war council meeting with the other leaders of the dwarf clans and therefore I was left to entertain myself. I sat outside my tent (I got my own tent because I was the only female in the army), pulling grass out of the group and humming to myself. I was bored. Really bored. There was no Thorin to entertain me (even if all he does is mock me) and I couldn't go up to Balin, Dwalin, Gloin, or Oin in case they came to know me too well. I had spent the last two days with my hood pulled up over my head just in case one of the future members of the Company noticed me.

Well, the good news is—none of the future members of the Company noticed me. The bad news is—everyone else noticed me. The stares of the dwarven warriors followed me everywhere I went. I couldn't even walk to the latrine without some dwarf watching me every footstep. They whispered about me behind my back and hushed as I approached. It was kind of scary.

Looking back on it now, there are several plausible reasons as to why I was attracting so much attention. One—I was wearing a hood and hoods are always suspicious. Two—I am the only female amongst thousands of male dwarves. Three—rumor had spread through the camp of Anren the Seer. Four—I am a very odd person and I tend to attract attention.

However, despite all these very reasonable reasons as to why I was attracted unwanted attention, I could only reason that occurred to me was a very unreasonable one—I was attracting the attention of these dwarven warriors because I wasn't dwarf-like enough to blend it. And, to me, not being dwarf-like is a catastrophe beyond compare.

So, as I realized my failings as a one-quarter dwarf, I decided my dwarvishness required some practice. Starting with walking.

I stood up outside my tent, widened my stance, put my hands on my hips, and waddled about with my head held high.

I thought I was doing a very good job of being a dwarf. Until someone started laughing at me.

I spun around and saw a dwarf warrior, clad in gold and iron armor, standing behind me. He had wild, black hair and a young face. He was as tall as Thorin and twice a broad in the shoulders. A heavy, thick axe was strapped across his back and it was a wonder how he could stand up straight without toppling over backwards with that thing attached to him.

My eyes narrowed. He had not stopped laughing yet.

"What's your problem?" I asked.

He stopped guffawing long enough to answer me. "I had heard rumors of the southern seer who speaks strangely and I was excited to meet you, but I did not expect you to be funny as well."

"I wasn't trying to be funny," I snapped. "I'm working on my dwarf walk."

Knute's laughter doubled and he actually bent over, clutching his stomach in an attempt to contain his laughter a little.

"What's your _problem_!?" I cried.

He gulped down the rest of his laughter and got to his feet. He extended a hand to me and grinned beneath his messy beard. "I am Knute son of Nord of the Blacklocks."

"I am Anren the Seer," I said. I crossed my arms and refused to shake his hand.

"Why, may I ask, are you practicing your dwarf walk?" asked Knute. His mouth twitched madly, but he managed to contain his laughter this time.

I held my head high in the air and said, "I grew up amongst humans, so my dwarven habits are rusty. I was refreshing myself before I was so rudely interrupted by you and your stupid hair."

"My stupid hair?"

And then, Knute was roaring with laughter again and I was left standing in the grass and feeling stupid. A group of dwarves (Longbeards if I'm not mistaken) passed by and shot us curious glances. I glared them away and then proceeded to glare at Knute until his laughter subsided.

"Would you like some help?" asked Knute, finally. "Your dwarf habits seem to be _very_ rusty, but I am a dwarf—have been all my life. Perhaps I may help you." He grinned madly.

I was very tempted to say no. Very. The less time I spent with this laughing goon, the better. As Thorin would say, his stupidity might rub off on me. But after a long internal debate, I realized that I was probably already too stupid for Knute to have any effect on me.

"Alright then," I said. "Teach me to walk, talk, sit, stand, eat, dress like a dwarf."

"You want to know all of that?" asked Knute in surprise.

I sighed dramatically. "Why does no one here get the Princess Diaries quote?"

"Princess Diaries?"

I grinned at Knute's bemused expression and said, "Seer stuff. Nothing _you_ would understand."

* * *

_Eating_

"Now," said Knute. "We dwarves are aware of how to eat politely. There are circumstances that arrive where we need to deal with humans or halflings or—as much as we try to avoid it—elves."

Both Knute and I shuddered at the mention of such abominable creatures.

"However," said Knute. "When we dwarves are amongst ourselves, we lose all sense of politeness."

"I can do that," I said.

We were sitting outside the kitchen tent on two crates of food. Knute had decided he was hungry and took some apples from the kitchen (as it turns out Knute is the son of the king of the Blacklocks, so he has some authority in camp—for the most part he uses his authority to steal food from the kitchen tent.)

Knute took a bite of his apples and said, "Rule Number One—it is permitted to talk with food in your mouth."

I copied him and took a massive bite of my own apple. The crisp, cold apple flesh filled my mouth and I barely managed to get out the words, "Miph caphmph domph daphmt."

Knute choked on his apple from laughing so much.

"Rule Number Two," said Knute after I managed to swallow my ridiculously large bite of apple and he managed to recover from choking. "You are allowed to throw food across the dinner table. In fact, it is highly encouraged."

He chucked his half-eaten apple at my head. I screamed and threw my hands in front of my face to protect myself. The apple bounced off my right arm and landed on the ground.

"What a waste of a perfectly good apple," said Knute sadly.

"What the freak was that about!?" I cried. "Why are you throwing apples at me? What did I ever do to you, you crazy dwarf?"

Knute grinned. "I am _supposed_ to throw food at you. It is part of being a dwarf. You were supposed to catch the apple in your mouth."

"How coordinated do you think I am!?"

After another session of Knute roaring with laughter, he said, "It is considered a food exchange at the table. You throw me your food and then I throw you mine. Now you must throw your apple at me and I shall catch it in my mouth."

"I'm not throwing my apple at you," I said. "I want to eat my apple."

"I just gave you my apple," said Knute.

"You _threw_ it at me," I snapped. "That's not giving me the apple, that's _attacking _me with the apple. Jeez, didn't you dwarves ever learn proper table manners."

Knute stared at me. "You are doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" I asked.

"Rule Number Three," said Knute as he hopped down from his crate and picked up his fallen half-eaten apple from the ground. "The ground is just as clean as the table top when it comes to eating." He took a bite of the apple.

"Ew," I said. "That's nasty." And then, I check my own apple at his head.

* * *

_Talking_

"While we _can_ speak politely," said Knute. He shifted to a more comfortable position on the crate "We find that dull and elvish." (Insert shudder here.) "We dwarves would much rather make crude jokes and talk about women, alcohol, gold, jewels, mines, mountains, and war. Mainly about women. The more impressive their beards the better."

"Well _sorry_ that I don't have a beard," I snapped. I crossed my arms and glared at Knute. "It's a sensitive conversation for me. I can't help it that I'm three-quarters human and I can never grow a majestic beard. I shall be forever stuck at a non-existent Thorin Level because my facial follicles lack the ability to grow hair!" Tears started forming in the corner of my eyes. "I'm practically on the same level as Kili—that hairless rat!"

"Rule Number One of Dwarvish Talking," said Knute hurried. "No emotional, tearful talk. Only elves cry with such ease."

I gasped and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes. "Don't you ever put me on the same level as _elves_."

"At least," said Knute with approval. "I do not have to teach you Rule Number Two—talk about how much you despise elves."

"They're loathsome," I said. "They think they're so much prettier than everyone else—_just because their hair stays in perfect place after weeks of traveling does not mean their better than me_!"

I took a deep, calming breath, while Knute let out a bellowing laugh.

"Now, be nice, Ana—ren. Anren," I said. "You know some very nice elves. Elrohir and Elladan were always nice to you when you met. And Riwen is your estranged step-brother."

"An elf is your estranged step-brother?" gasped Knute. He eyed me with distrust.

"He wasn't very elvish," I said, as if that solved everything.

Knute shook his head. "Rule Humber Three—choose crude topics of discussion." Knute started at me in anticipation, as if suddenly hoping I might burst out in poetry about all the crude things the world possessed.

I shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, um, uh, crude, uh, uh, er, um, poop?"

Knute seemed to deflate. He bowed his head and his shoulders slumped and he sighed dramatically. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Shut up," I said. "It's hard to come up with rude things on the fly."

Knute stared.

"Oh no!" I cried, wrapping my arms around my shoulders. "The pressure is building. So much pressure on one small woman. I can't take it. My brain. My heart. My chest. Can't breathe. Too much pressure. I cannot compute crude humor." I clutched my heart and mimed dying. I collapsed on top of the food crate, coughing, and reached out a weak hand to Knute. In my softest voice, I whispered, "I was not made to operate under pressure. Tell…Thorin…he…is…majestic." I closed my eyes and pretended to die.

There was a pause.

"I think we should move on to teaching you how to sit like a dwarf."

* * *

_Sitting_

"Head held high," said Knute. "Lean back, legs apart. Dwarves are proud people. We do not care what the world thinks of us. And we sit in such a fashion." He demonstrated the casual sitting pose of the dwarves, letting his curly black beard cover his chest and using the edges of the wooden crate to rest his hands on and hold himself up.

"I don't know," I said. "I think sitting with my legs crossed and my hands clasped neatly in my lap is the way to go." I showed him the pose that I mean. I looked dainty and sweet (or as dainty and sweet as I could ever look). I smiled at Knute. "I think this is a very dwarvish look. Don't you?"

Knute groaned. "You are not taking this seriously, are you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Knute chuckled and grinned at me. "Let us try the second pose." He pulled the heavy axe from his back and placed the head of the axe on the ground. Then, he rested his hands on top of the axe and lifted his head to stare at me. "Dangerous," he said. "But strong."

"I don't have an axe to lean on," I said.

"You may borrow mine." He hopped off his crate and handed the axe to me.

The second I received the full weight of the axe, my muscles gave out beneath me and I dropped the axe to the ground. I yelped as it landed on the grass with a dull thud.

"That is an expensive weapon!" cried Knute.

"I'm a fragile woman!" I cried. "You can't just go about handing me heavy weapons!"

"You are insane," said Knute decidedly.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said, crossing my arms and grinning up at Knute. "I'm just trying my hardest to be a dwarf."

"There we go!" cried Knute, leaping backwards and pointing at me wildly. "Now that's a genuine dwarf pose!"

I glanced down at myself. My knees were bent so that my feet rested on the side of the box. My arms were folded and my head was raised in stubborn defiance. I looked short and proud and, I supposed, very dwarvish. I quickly tossed my long blond hair over my shoulder and giggled as femininely as I could. "Really? Am I improving?"

Knute groaned. "Never mind."

* * *

_Dressing_

Knute had leant me some of his clothes in order to teach me how to dress like a dwarf. I will have you know that Knute is about three inches taller than me and a good bit wider than me. After changing, I stepped out of my tent wearing a brown tunic that was so large on me that I wasn't exactly sure where my body was in the folds of fabric. I had to hold up the pants because Knute's waist was two or three times the size of mine. And I was tripping over the black boots that he made me wear.

"I look like a cloth marshmallow," I said darkly.

"You are too thin," said Knute, trying to suppress his laughter. "You need some meat on your bones before you can become a true dwarf."

"I was born this way!" I wailed, clutching the waist of my pants. "I eat and eat and eat, but I never gain any weight. I have the metabolism of a lemur."

"What is a lemur?" asked Knute.

"I'm changing," I said, turning around and heading back into my tent.

"But your tight and manly pants are not very dwarf-like!" cried Knute.

"I don't care!" I shouted as the tent flaps swung shut behind me.

* * *

_Walking_

Knute found a long semi-empty pathway through the rows of tents for us to practice walking in. We stood at one end of the row as Knute explained to me how to walk like a dwarf.

"It's about pride," said Knute. "Head held high, embrace your shortness and walk with the confidence that you can chop the head off of anyone who argues with you." Knute walked forward in an exaggerated style of his normal movement. "Keep your beard on full display—not that you have a beard. Proud, remember?"

I walked behind Knute, sticking my chest out in place of my beard. I waddled along like a short, stumpy penguin, with my hand straight at my sides as flippers.

"I do not have to look behind me to know that you are walking incorrectly," said Knute.

I gasped. "You have eyes in the back of your head!"

Knute laughed. "Proud, long strides."

"Walk with swagger," I said, switching my walk from penguin-style walk to some weird rap-gangster-church-mom strut (don't ask). "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"I doubt it," said Knute.

"You do _not_ have eyes in the back of your head," I cried. I was walking like I was bowlegged now. "Strutting, strutting, strutting with swag. Strutting, strutting. Strut like a boss."

And right then. At that very moment. Because of my incredible luck. I happened to be walking outside the war council tent. And the war council meeting just happened to end. And Thorin and Thrain just happened to walk out of the tent together. I stopped in the middle walking with my legs wide apart and my chest sticking out like a bird and my neck stretched high above my shoulders like a demented giraffe.

Thrain stared.

Thorin stared.

Thrain glared.

Thorin raised his eyebrows.

I grinned. "Knute is teaching me how to walk like a dwarf."

Thorin stared at Knute, who was grinning sheepishly a little ways away.

"She is not a very good student," said Knute. He stroked his messy beard and laughed awkwardly.

Thrain looked half-way between throttling Knute and beheading me. I think he was still debating which to do, when Thorin stepped forward, smirked at me, and said, "Do you think that is how dwarves walk? Knute son of Nord can only show you an inferior dwarf's way of walking. I can show you how a _majestic_ dwarf walks."

And then Thorin walked past me.

I turned and stared at him, my mouth hanging open in awe. Look at the way his legs move. The way his hips sway. The way his muscles ripples. The way his head is firm and proud. The way his hair tosses. He's so, so, so, so _majestic_!

"Oh Teacher!" I cried, sprinting after Thorin, my arms outstretched in front of me. "Show me your ways, Teacher! Show me!"

* * *

**A/N: This was an incredibly fun chapter to write so I hope you had fun reading it. Um... check my profile for links to fanart for the Skipper. Also, tuttut, just because I didn't update in a month doesn't mean you can slack on reviews. Oh! Okay! Since I haven't heard from your guys in forever and you haven't heard from me in forever, tell me the funniest thing that happened to you in the last month! Sharing is caring! And because I'm a writer, I love other people's stories. So REVIEW and tell me about your lives! **

**Also, can I ask you guys a favor? I posted the first chapter of my original work on (link is on my profile page). Can you please read chapter one and tell me if there is anything that doesn't make sense or confuses you? THANK YOU SO MUCH! **


	88. The Incurable Curse Of Women

**A/N: I apologize in advance if I have any male readers, but I firmly believe this: All fanfiction with a female OC in Middle Earth for more than a month needs to have the girl deal with her period. Otherwise I have no respect for the fanfiction. (Sorry, but let's be real - there is a reason there is no female walker in the Fellowship - it's because none of the guys wanted to deal with periods.)**

* * *

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter VIII: The Incurable Curse Of Women**

"Why aren't there any heating pads? Where is my heating pad? I don't care if it's too hot! Get me a God damn heating pad! _Thorin_! If you do not get me something for these cramps, I will tear out your beard and tape it to my own face! Thorin! It freaking hurts!"

Thorin down at me, his mouth curled in a malicious smirk. I was lying under a head of blankets on a floor mat. It was that time of the month and I had pieces of cloth wadded up to stop the bleeding. But just because I had learned how to deal with the bleeding in my two years in Middle Earth, did not mean that I had learned how to stop the inevitable period cramps. My solution was basically to lie in bed all day and complain about the lack of Advil in Middle Earth.

At this point, Thorin was used to my once a month three days of bed-riddenness. He just silently laughed at me and made me tea when I asked for it.

"I have a meeting with my father again today," said Thorin.

"That has nothing to do with my heating pad and why do you keep meeting with your father—he's a jerk and he's nothing but rude to you." There was a spasm of pain in my abdomen and I rolled over groaning. "I hate my life!"

"He has calmed down since out first meeting," said Thorin.

"What?" I asked through clenched teeth. "Does he only glare at you and mutter about your betrayal when other people are around? And oh my God the pain is outrageous!"

Thorin nodded. "That is an accurate description actually."

"Minus a hundred CPS," I cried. "Anyone being mean to you is automatically negative one hundred CPS because it's you." I curled up under the blankets of my bed. "Why? Why must I have been born female!?"

"You must be far in the negatives then," said Thorin.

"That rule doesn't apply to me," I said.

"Why is that?"

"I invented the CPS," I said, rolling onto my back and grinning up at Thorin. "I get to manipulate the rules."

"Ah, and perhaps that is why you must suffer period pains."

Right when he said that there was another spasm of pain and I shrieked. "Damn you, Thorin Oakenshield!"

"That is not my name yet," said Thorin.

"I'm Anren the Seer," I said. "I can know these things."

"Do not let it go to your head," said Thorin.

"I won't go to my head."

His eyebrows shot up. "I can see it going to your head right now."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Not it's not. You're imagining things."

"It is in your head already," said Thorin. He prodded my foot underneath the blankets with his own foot. "There is no saving you now."

"I hate you," I said, pulling my feet away and shooting Thorin a venomous glare.

"I know you too well," said Thorin. He paused and then said thoughtfully, "Maybe there is something wrong with me."

I groaned. "Why don't I have a heating pad yet? Is that too much to ask? Just a simple heating pad!"

The smile disappeared from Thorin's face. (Mot that he was actually smiling, it's rare to see an actual smile stretched across Thorin's face—but I know Thorin well enough to know when his face is smiling. His expression grows lighter and he seemed less brooding—but still majestic.)

"I have to go," said Thorin, moving toward the exit.

"No!" I wailed, reaching out an arm to him. "Who will make me tea and bring me a heating pad?"

"I can send someone over," said Thorin. His lips twitched. "We will see which unfortunate soul volunteers."

"You're evil," I cried. "Pure evil!"

Thorin actually laughed aloud as he left the tent.

* * *

The person he sent over to take care of me was a young dwarf by the name of Nam. Nam had blond hair and the barest traces of a beard (he was yet to brown into his beard yet). He was slender and small for a dwarf with blue eyes that shifted from side to side nervously when he entered my tent, as if he was afraid to look at me.

"Thorin son of Thrain sent me," said Nam.

"About time!" I cried. "I need a damn heating pad! And more cloths!"

"Thorin said you were ill," said Nam softly. "Why do you need cloths?"

I knew Thorin was evil for sending Nam to care for me when it was that time of the month, but I didn't realize exactly how evil Thorin was. I sat up on my bed and stared up at Nam and his bright blue eyes. "Did Thorin tell you _what_ I was sick with?"

Nam shook his head.

"Oh," I said. "That dwarf. I'm going to pluck out his beard one hair at a time."

Nam's eyes widened in shock and he leapt like a startled dog. "Why would you do that to Thorin? A dwarf's beard is the pride and joy of the Longbeards. What did Thorin do to you to make you want to pull out his beard?"

Poor, poor Nam. I shook my head. Poor Nam.

"I'm on my period."

Nam blinked. "What is your period?"

I sighed. Poor Nam.

"It's the time of the month where a woman bleeds between her legs. And sometimes period cramps come with my periods. And when I'm on my period, I am in pain and I need a hot damp cloth to put over my abdomen and I need cloth to stop the bleeding. I need those thing now and if you don't get them to me within the next ten minutes I will show you the other side of a woman's period where she is irrational and crazy."

With every word I said, Nam turned whiter and whiter until, by the end of my speech, he looked ready to faint.

"Does, um, Thorin know about this?" asked Nam weakly.

"Of course he does," I snapped. "Now why don't I have new cloths and a heating pad in my hands right now?"

Nam yelped and hurried out of the tent. Within five minutes he came back with a stack of cloths and then he fled the tent again while I changed cloths.

When Nam came back with a heated damp cloth, he brought a friend with him—Knute. Knute was, of course, laughing as always as Nam scuttled across the room to give me the heating pad. My cramps had subsided a little and I took the heating pad gladly.

"Nam tells me that you are ill," said Knute. He grinned. "You have only been in camp for three days and you have caught a sickness. I expected more of you."

"Ill?" I turned to Nam and glowered at him. "Really? That's what you tell him?"

Nam shifted awkwardly.

"What is it?" asked Knute, frowning. "What did Nam not tell me?"

"I'm on my period," I said.

"What is your period?" asked Knute.

"Do dwarf women not have periods!?" I cried.

Knute and Nam exchanged confused glances. Knute turned back to me and said, "If they do, they are discreet about it."

"God damn you stupid dwarf men and your ignorance!" I threw a pillow at Knute's head. I fell back into the bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. "I want some tea."

"Nam," said Knute. "That is your responsibility."

Nam hurried outside the tent while Knute stayed. He grinned down at me while I glowered back at him.

"You still have not explained to me what a period is," said Knute.

"Trust me," I said, letting the warmth of the heating pad spread through my abdomen. "You don't want to know."

"The more you tell me that I should not know," said Knute. "The more I want to know."

I cringed as the pain rippled through me. "You don't want to know."

"Tell."

I rolled my head to the side and glared at Knute. "I'm bleeding between my legs."

Knute stared. And stared. And stared. And stared.

Then he turned around and walked out of the tent.

I rolled my eyes. These Middle Earth dwarves can't take their periods. Maybe that's what happens when males are the vast majority of the population.

The tent flap opened again and a pale Nam walked back into the tent clutching a metal cup between his hands. Nam glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to me. "Why was Knute fleeing the tent?"

"He asked what a period was," I said, taking the cup from Nam.

"Oh." Nam inched away from me. "Poor Knute."

"Why does no one say 'Poor Ana—ren'?" I asked. "I'm the one freaking bleeding here."

"I am sorry," squeaked Nam.

"Normally," I said, sipping my black tea. "I would pinch your cheeks and tell you that you're adorable. But right now I'm in pain and in a bad mood and all I can say is—_grow some balls, are you a dwarf or are you a fluffy little kitten_?"

I swear Nam looked ready to pass out. Lucky for him, he was saved from my rage by the arrival of Thorin.

"Are you terrorizing the young dwarf I sent to look after you?" asked Thorin.

If anything, Nam looked equally as terrified by the arrival of Thorin as he was by my period rage. His blue eyes kept darting back and forth between Thorin and me and he kept inching backwards towards the exit.

"You told him I was _ill_," I said darkly.

"Did you explain to him?" asked Thorin. "Or did you allow him to remain ignorant?"

"I told him."

"You should be nice to him," said Thorin. "Nam was the only dwarf who volunteered to take care of you."

"He made me tea," I said, holding up the cup for Thorin to see. When Thorin didn't respond, I added, "So how did the war council go?"

Thorin glanced across the tent at Nam. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Are you still here, Nam son of Narron?"

"No," said Nam as he scurried toward the exit.

As the tent flaps closed behind him, Thorin turned back to me. "My father is as disapproving as always."

"What did he do this time?" I asked, taking a sip of my tea.

"He tried to have you removed from the camp," said Thorin.

I gasped. "He did not!"

Thorin smirked, a light amusement in his eyes. "Oh yes. He said you were a distraction with your womanly ways."

I snickered. "Does he mean my wit and charm or my expect seduction methods?"

"He was referring to your period," said Thorin flatly.

"Is he messing with a woman on her period?" I asked. "Because you should warn him that messing with a woman on her period means that he should sleep with a knife under his pillow for the next week."

"I am certain someone will inform him," said Thorin. He hesitated. "We are picking up camp early tomorrow morning and heading for the Ettenmoors."

I almost choked on the sip of tea I took. I cough and swallowed the scalding liquid. "What? Tomorrow?"

Thorin nodded.

"But that's my heavy day? Thrain wants me to travel on my heavy day?"

"I could hardly ask him to postpone for a day because you cannot travel on the heavy day of your period," said Thorin.

"Yes, you could have," I snapped.

Thorin sighed. "I do not think the King Under the Mountain who does not actually have a mountain to be king under actually cares about how much you are bleeding and about whether or not you have period cramps. We are going to war. War does not wait for your time of the month to pass."

I stared at Thorin for a moment. "You know," I said finally. "I think you have spent too much time around me. All the other dwarves go running in the opposite direction as fast as their short legs can carry them at the mention of period, but you can talk about my period blood like it's the weather." I squinted at Thorin over the top of my tea cup. "Secretly, you're just as messed up as I am."

Thorin smirked. "The Ettenmoors are also known as troll country."

"Trolls?"

"You said we cannot have the Adventures of Anren and Thorin without fighting some trolls." Thorin was laughing at me on the inside, I could tell. "This might be your only chance to fight a troll on these adventures."

My jaw dropped. "You expect me to fight a troll on my _period_?"

"You are much more fearsome on your period," said Thorin.

"I will throw this tea mug at your head," I said, lifting the mug for Thorin to see.

"The trolls will be running in terror," said Thorin.

"You are a truly evil dwarf."

Thorin opened his mouth to respond, but we were interrupted by the arrival of Thrain. The dwarf king was no longer wearing his armor, but a simple red tunic. His eyes flashed in my direction, detest vivid in his gaze. But Thrain did not say anything to me, he turned to Thorin (the amusement had entirely drained from Thorin's face) and said, "Balin said I could find you in the Seer's tent."

"She is ill," said Thorin. "And it appears everyone else in your army is incompetent when it comes to caring for a sick woman."

"Hear, hear," I said, toasting Thorin's words with my tea mug.

Thrain gave me one of the most poisonous glares I think I have ever received in my life (and trust me, I have received _a lot _of venomous glares in my lifetime).

"We cannot have an ill woman in our army," said Thrain.

"I'm not infectious," I said. "Trust me, I would _love_ to be infectious—I could make these ignorant men suffer the curse of womanhood—but unfortunately, I'm the only person who will endure this sickness."

Thrain's eyes narrowed. "We leave at dawn tomorrow."

"And I'll be ready to depart," I said, smiling as sweetly as I could manage.

"Back to Bree," said Thrain. "That is a wise choice."

"Bree?" I asked, still trying to feign ignorance. "I plan on going to the Ettenmoors with _my_ Thorin."

I was pleased to see Thrain right eye twitch at the mention of "my Thorin." Thorin was trying to mask a smile as Thrain rounded on him.

"You still insist on bringing this _Seer_ with us?" asked Thrain, practically spitting with rage.

"She is useful," said Thorin. "Sometimes."

I nodded. "Sometimes I can be very useful. Definitely worth keeping around."

Thrain looked from me to Thorin and then back to me. It seemed to finally dawn on Thrain that he was not going to get rid of me and keep Thorin. Thrain took a deep breath, bid us farewell, and left the tent, the flaps swinging behind him. Thorin and I stared at the exit for a moment, still recovery from Thrain's semi-majestic-but-not-anywhere-near-as-majestic-as -Thorin departure.

"You know," I said suddenly. "I understand why nine walkers of the Fellowship were all male."

Thorin glanced at me.

"Do you realize how awkward it would have been for all of them if one of the walker's had her period while they were hiking through Caradhras?" I shuddered. "The men of Middle Earth are just so ill prepared for that time of the month. Seriously do their parents not give them sex-ed or something?"

Thorin rolled his eyes. "You need to pack tonight and someone will help you with your tent in the morning."

"I'm just saying," I said. "Perhaps it's the same philosophy with the Company too. That would explain why armies are all male too. They probably are just too terrified to deal with women's periods." I sighed. "What a sad world we live in, Thorin, a sad world."

"I am leaving," said Thorin.

"Coward!" I cried. "You're secretly just like the rest of them!"

Thorin ignored me and headed for the exit.

"Wait! My heating pad is getting cold!"

* * *

**A/N: C****an I ask you guys a favor? I just posted the first chapter of my original work on fictionpress (link is on my profile page). It's called Chimera. Can you please read chapter one and tell me if there is anything that doesn't make sense or confuses you? I've worked really hard on this story so any help you can give me is greatly appreciated. THANK YOU SO MUCH!**


	89. Dinner Knows Best

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter IX: Dinner Knows Best**

"On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again. The life I love is making war with my friends. And I can't wait to get on the road again. On the road again. Goin' places I ain't never been. Seein' things I might never see again. And I can't wait to get on the road again. On the road again. Like a band of dwarves we go down the highway. We're the best of friends. Insisting that the world keep turning out way!"

(I will have you know that my singing voice is beautiful. Ignore whatever the dwarves say, my voice is stunning.)

"Anren," groaned Knute. "You have been singing the same pitchy song in the same pitchy voice for the past three hours."

"Please stop," cried Nam. "My head has begun to ache."

I tossed my hair over my shoulder like the elegant, prideful lady that I am. (I won't mention that some of my hair got caught in my mouth and I had to spit it out, using my teeth to get the feeling of hair off of my tongue.) I grinned at the dwarves who had chosen to travel with me. "You are all just jealous of my stunning singing voice."

"Please, do not stop, your voice is so pleasant to listen to."

I immediately turned to stare at Alaric son of Dagnur of the Stiffbeards. He was similar to Kili in the fact that he was one of those rare sexy dwarves. However, unlike Kili, Alaric actually had a beard. Now that I think about it, Alaric kind of looked like Kili if Kili had a beard. Therefore, Alaric had infinitely more majestic potential than Kili—Sorry, Kili.

"Alaric," said Knute. "Do not encourage her."

"But I enjoy her singing." Alaric beamed at me. "You have the voice of a babbling brook, Anren."

I wrinkled my nose. There is seriously something wrong with a guy who likes my singing. And there's something even more wrong with him if he uses _babbling brook_ as a compliment.

It was Knute who dragged Alaric and Nam over to walk with us. Nam seemed terrified at the thought of saying anything to me—especially after I confirmed Knute's question that yes, I was still on my period—it is not a one day affair. No one had bothered to explain what a period was to Alaric and he remained in blissful ignorance. Personally, I would have preferred to walk with Thorin than these three weirdos (sorry, Knute), but Thorin was forced to travel with his father—something Thorin was far from happy about.

After three hours of marching with a dwarven army, my cramps had faded away and all I had to worry about was changing my cloth for a clean one every couple hours. Knute and Nam were fine to travel with me as long as I didn't _talk_ about my illness. Alaric just thought I had a serious bladder problem because I kept going off the path into the woods to deal with my period.

We were in troll country now, where the landscape was hills. I was terrified to stray from the crooked dirt path because the land was filled with holes and crevices. Knute had warned me—a wicked smile on his face—that trolls lived in underground caves and if I fell through one of the holes, I would land in a troll hoard and never come out alive. I couldn't tell if Knute was being serious or not.

"War is short on pretty women," said Alaric suddenly. "A thousand sweat dwarves and not a single pretty face to look at." He sighed and then smiled at me. "I am so happy that you have joined us, Anren. Your face is a blessing as great as any gemstone."

I paled and backed away until I was half-hidden behind Knute.

"He's scaring me," I whispered. "No dwarf has ever complimented my face before."

"He talks like an elven poet," said Knute, rolling his eyes. (I seriously doubted that Alaric could rival the elven poets, but I didn't see any need to point that out.) "But he means well."

"I need practice," said Alaric. "Knute has a pretty sister in his home and I have plans to woo her."

I squinted at Knute and pursed my lips in distaste. "Not only did you just use the word 'woo' in a sentence—and I _hate_ the word 'woo'—but you _insulted _me by calling me _practice_ for a prettier woman."

"Well," said Alaric, still smiling sweetly at me. "You lack a beard."

"Don't remind me!" I wailed.

Nam patted me on the shoulder comfortingly (though he seemed a little afraid to get too near me—it might have something to do with me ruining his innocence, but I could be wrong.)

"We cannot all have beards," said Nam.

I glared at his luscious, dark brown beard and refused to talk.

"Let us not make fun of the beardless," said Knute, still grinning from one ear to the other. I debated tripping him as we marched, but I figured the consequences would not be worth the satisfaction of watching him fall flat on his face.

At the same that I struggled with this dilemma, our little walking troupe received some visitors. Apparently, Thorin had managed to escape his father and decided to come visit me. He was propped up on the back of a light brown pony. The pony (I decided to name the pony Squish) trotted up to us with another dappled pony (named Mellow) following close behind. Mellow's rider was a tall, broad-shoulder dwarf with thick, dark-brown hair that hosted several braids.

At the sight of me, Thorin's companion grinned. "So this is the infamous Anren the Seer."

I tossed my hair and stuck my nose in the air. "What's it to you?"

Thorin rolled his eyes. "This is my brother, Frerin."

"Oh." I paused. "_Oh_." A wide grin spread across my face and I gave Frerin my most simpering smile. "Why _hello_ Thorin's most beloved brother. How _are _you?"

Frerin's face crumpled in fear and confusion. He turned to stare at Thorin and said, "Why has her voice changed? Why is she looking at me with such adoring eyes?"

Thorin ignored his brother and instead glowered at me. "Do not even consider it, Anren."

My grin grew even bigger. "Oh, Frerin. Dear, sweet, beautiful, almost-as-majestic-as-Thorin, Frerin."

Frerin pulled away from me, his pony, Mellow, rearing backwards in fear of my demonic smile. I didn't mind the pony and rider, I just kept smiling as sweetly as I knew how.

"Anren, dear Anren," said Alaric, stepping forward and resting a hand on my shoulder. "You dearly need some instruction in the ways of wooing."

"Do not encourage her," said Thorin. He was still glaring daggers at me, while I attempted to ignore him and gave Frerin my most adoring smile.

"I do not understand," said Nam softly.

"You do not have to," said Knute cheerfully. "You must sit back and enjoy the tension."

"I am not enjoying the tension," said Frerin nervously. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead. I smiled. Thorin glared. Mellow shifted from side to side uncomfortably.

"Do not tell her," said Thorin.

"What would I tell her that is so terrible?" asked Frerin.

"So tell me," I said, beaming at Frerin. "Was there ever a time when Thorin was unmajestic? Was he a screamer as a baby? Did he cry as a child? Did he? He used to wet the bed, didn't he?"

I was jumping up and down with excitement, right next to Mellow's dangerous hooves. Frerin was leaning so far away from me that he was almost falling off the other side of the horse. Thorin looked murderous. Knute looked amused. Alaric was sighing and shaking his head and Nam looked just plain confused.

"A time when was unmajestic?" asked Frerin. He shot Thorin a confused glance.

"Do not tell her anything," said Thorin.

Frerin glanced at me and shook his head. I wilted with disappointment. Head bowed and shoulders slumped, I dragged my feet as I walked back to Knute's side. Knute, of course, was laughing at my misfortune. He patted me on the back comfortingly (an action that was very painful for my back).

Frerin settled into his saddle again after he was certain that I would not bombard him with questions about Thorin's childhood. He breathed a sigh of relief and said, "No encounters with trolls yet?"

"It is daytime," said Alaric. "And any troll who dared to mess with our army would be a foolish troll indeed."

Frerin frowned. "I have never laid eyes on a troll before."

"Never?" I asked incredulously.

"Not everyone has your _good fortune_," said Thorin, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Most dwarves spend their days in the mountains, mining for riches," said Frerin. "We do not go on adventures like my brother." Frerin shot Thorin an admiring grin.

"Have you ever…fought a battle before?" I asked.

"I have fought against a dragon before," piped up Nam.

"We have all been trained as warriors," added Knute.

It had never occurred to me before that these dwarves—who were decked out in battle armor and held their weapons like experts—had never seen a real battle before. They may have practiced in a training field and heard stories of dwarven wars—but they had never shed blood on a battlefield before. Hell! Some of these dwarves had never even spent more than week outside of their mountain homes before.

I blinked. This could only mean that… "I am one of the most seasoned warriors here?"

"Do not let this go to her head," said Thorin, groaning.

Alaric scoffed. "Though your face is that of a beauty, Anren the Fair, your jokes are wihout taste."

"I have been trained as warrior at least," said Knute.

"Can you even draw that bow?" asked Frerin, pointing to the crossbow strapped to the side of my backpack.

"Excuse me," I said. "I've been in two wars in my time and I've fought in numerous battles. I am a veteran in the field of battle and don't you forget it."

Thorin muttered something that I was pretty sure went along the lines of "You spent most of the time running away."

"What battles did you fight in?" asked Nam with wide-eyed innocence.

"What?" I asked.

"You said you fought in two battles," said Nam. "Which ones did you fight in?"

I swallowed. I was going to fight in, um, the future. I couldn't really tell the dwarves that. I smiled weakly. "They were southern battles—you wouldn't have heard of them."

"She is lying," said Alaric smugly. He then remembered that he was supported to be flattering me and added, "Though he lips look sweet as honey, the words she speaks are like poison."

Hot with indignation, I unstrapped my crossbow from my backpack, strung the bow, armed it with an arrow, and said, "Name the target and I'll hit it. Don't go easy on me or I might be more insulted than I already am."

"This will not end well," said Thorin.

But despite his warning, the other dwarves began to pick my target as we walked along the dirt road through the Ettenmoors. From all the crooked trees, hills, and cracks that I could have aimed for, they picked a moderate target. A tree a few hundred yards back that any reasonable archer could strike. Not close enough to insult me, but not far enough that it seemed as though they were trying to sabotage my attempt to prove myself a decent archer.

I lifted the crossbow, squinted as I peered along the shaft of the arrow, aimed, fired, and missed by a mile.

And when I say "a mile," I mean _a mile_. The arrow shot off to the right, through a thicket and landing in a boulder some few feet behind that.

The dwarves lapsed into silence, staring at the boulder that I had hit. They were speechless. I don't think they had ever seen someone miss _so_ badly before.

Slowly, the dwarves turned back to me, their mouths open in surprise.

I scratched the back of my head and grinned at them sheepishly. "That was the tenth shot. I always miss the tenth shot."

"Do me the courtesy of never trying to save my life on the battlefield," said Knute.

"I can show you again!" I wailed, reaching for another arrow. "Nine times out of ten, I am perfect!"

"Do not waste any more arrows," said Thorin. "You still need to retrieve the last one you fired. We do not have the luxury of spending arrows for your desperation to prove yourself."

As much as I wanted to argue with Thorin, I realized that he was right. Besides, collecting the arrow from behind that bush would be the perfect time for me to deal with my period problems. I reattached the crossbow to my bag and saluted the dwarves before heading into the woodlands to find my lost arrow.

The tree branches scratched against my arms and the roots tried to trip me up. I stumbled a few times, but managed to keep my feet beneath me. Eventually, I clambered through the thicket that the arrow had been fired through. I could see the boulder peeping up from behind the bush. I pushed the dark green leaves out of my way and forced myself through tightly woven branches. I pushed and pulled, propelling myself forward. I found the other side of the thicket, stepped forward—free from the branches—and found myself falling hands-first down a pitch-black hole in the gap between the thicket and the boulder.

I landed on a pile of bones.

They crunched uncomfortably beneath me and one skull rolled away after my foot kicked it from its seat. The skull settled in the light of a small ray, its empty eye sockets staring at me dully.

"Hello," I said. "Sorry about that. I'm just passing through. Hey! You wouldn't happen to know a skull by the name of Ian, would you? I know he lives quite a bit south of here, but he's a good friend of mine. Maybe you guys have a long-distance skullship."

The skull stared at me blankly.

"Okay," I said. "Maybe you don't know him."

The skull sat up and lifted itself from the ground. It reached its full height, hovering a five or six feet above the ground.

I screamed.

The eye sockets stared at me.

I screamed.

Then, I realized that something was holding the skull. Fat, gray fingers and a flabby, wrinkled arm—it was a troll. I had fallen into a troll hoard.

I screamed.

"Hey—'arry!" said the troll. "Somethin' stumbled into our nest."

The head of another troll appeared behind the first. His beady black eyes squinted at me and then his thin lips spread into a hideous grin. "Somethin' other than mutton, William."

The first troll licked his lips. "I do love me some new meat."

"William?" I repeated. I peered at the first troll. Now that I thought about it—that bald head, that leathery skin, that unwashed loin cloth—I had met this troll in his future.

"That me name," said the troll. He dropped the skull and leaned forward to hear me better. "What you talkin' to me for?"

"I know you, William," I said. I stood up (hard to do when I'm standing on a pile of bones) and drew myself up to my full four-foot-ten of height. "I know you in my Sight."

"Your what now?" asked William.

"Dinner is talking," said Harry. "Why is dinner talking."

"My name is now dinner," I said proudly. "My name is Ana—Anren. God, I really have to stop doing that. My name is Anren the Seer and William the Troll, I have you in my Sight. I know all about you, William."

"You do?" William's eyes went wide at the idea. I don't think he really knew what I was talking about, but the fact that I said it in an impressive voice seemed to set him on edge.

"Oh yes," I said. "You will meet two other trolls called Tom and Bert. And you will travel east of here. And you will come across some dwarves. Do not eat those dwarves, William. Those dwarves will be the death of you. Also, do not eat the pretty blond girl drinking coffee that will be these with them, because she really doesn't like to be eaten. Do you understand me? Yes. Okay, I'll be going now." I looked up at the hole that I had fallen through. I couldn't think of a way to get back up. Maybe Thorin would come looking for me. Or maybe he would just keep on walking and forget my existence. With Thorin it was a fifty-fifty chance.

"Dinner speaks of strange things," said William, frowning.

"We should eat it," said Harry. "Or it might start speaking filo-so-fee to us like last dinner did."

"Excuse me," I said, raising a hand to the faces of the two trolls. "I don't speak philosophy—so you're good there. However, _do not disrespect the dinner_."

Harry and William looked so shocked by their dinner's outburst that they stopped chatting amongst themselves and turned to stare at me in open mouthed horror.

"I do not mind being eaten," I said. The hole was not as high above my head as I had imagined. "But I deserve a say in how I am eaten."

"Dinner has a mind?" asked Harry.

I nodded solemnly. "Like, I do not do raw. You cannot eat me raw and wriggling. I refuse to be eaten that way. I want to be seasoned. Preferably with ketchup."

The two trolls stared at me in silence.

"You don't know what ketchup is!?" I cried. "What kind of lives have you been living?"

Just as the two trolls exchanged puzzled looks, a shadow appeared over my head. I looked up and saw the outline of a bearded dwarf. I waved at him and then turned my brilliant smile to the trolls.

"Ketchup is a gift from the troll gods of cooking," I said. "And since I am a very fine dinner, I feel that I deserve to be dressed with the gift of the troll gods."

"Trolls have gods?" asked William.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Do not trust dinner, William. Dinner lies."

"Dinner is very good," I said. "You should always trust dinner."

But, apparently, Harry did not trust dinner. He lunged forward, large hands outstretched, ready to break my neck.

"Do not harm dinner!" cried William. "Dinner teaches us of proper cooking!"

Dinner was more capable than Harry or William could ever have imagined. I screamed and ran away. Harry fell onto the pile of bones, sending splintered shin and finger bones flying in all directions.

"Anren!"

A hand reached down the hole, just a few inches out of my reach.

I used the fallen Harry's head as a footstool. I jumped onto his skull and caught hold of the extended hand.

Harry roared in protest, but before he could get to his feet and grab me, Frerin hoisted me out of the troll hoard.

I breathed the free air for a second and then Frerin and I fell backwards into the thicket, the branches scratching violently against out exposed skin. I opened my eyes and saw the worried faces of Nam, Knute, and Alaric peering over me. Thorin stood a little to the side, his eyebrows raised in questioning.

"How are you?" asked Nam. "Are you injured?"

"Please," I said. "I can talk a troll into confusion any old day. That's like a normal Tuesday for me."

"Did you talk to him about ketchup?" asked Thorin.

"Ketchup?" repeated Knute.

Alaric helped Frerin and me to our feet. I dusted off my pants before we headed back to the trail. I recounted my encounter with the trolls for the group to hear (I edited the future part and said that I used my Sight to know how the troll, William would die). Thorin, of course, remembered my story of his future encounter with William, Bert, and Tom. When we returned to the part, Thorin grabbed my arm and held me back while the others walked ahead.

"You saw William?" he asked.

"Yeah, weird, huh?"

"What would have happened if you had not known William?" asked Thorin.

"I might have been dinner," I said, shrugging. I paused. The realization dawned on me that I would have been eaten for dinner. My face paled. I shrieked and grabbed hold of Thorin's arm. "Oh my God! I would have been eaten for dinner!"

Thorin rolled his eyes. "You have returned to normal, I see."

"I don't want to die that way!" I wailed, still clinging to Thorin's arm as he began walking down the path. "Not that way! I want a beautiful death with a white casket and white flowers surrounding my face like a pure and innocent halo. Not cooked by trolls! I want thousands of people to appear at my funeral. I want them to cry and talk about how wonderful I was and how I had lines of hot guys wanting to marry me! I don't want to die deep-friend and smothered in ketchup!"

Thorin pried me off his arm/ "Be more careful next time, _Anren_."

My mouth was still hanging open as Thorin walked away from me. He threw a smirk at me over his shoulder.

I gritted my teeth and then forced a smile. "Oh, _Hubby_! Do you want me to tell Frerin about the night I taught you how to knit?"

Thorin stopped dead in his tracks and turned to glare at me. "You would not dare."

I laughed. "Watch me."

"Do not try it."

I glared at Thorin. Thorin glared at me. Passing dwarves watching our glare-off with bemused expressions.

And then, I sprinted past Thorin as fast as my short little legs could carry me, screaming at the top of my lungs, "Frerin! Brother Frerin! Did I tell you the story of that snowy night in Bree where Thorin—"

I'm not allowed to tell the rest of this story.

* * *

**A/N: As always, can you please check out the first chapter of my original story, Chimera, on fictionpress and let me know if it is confusing. Thanks!**

**Also, review for the sake of William who has just discovered the intelligence of dinner!**


	90. Survivors Of Childhood Trauma

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter X: Survivors Of Childhood Trauma**

We made camp in the Ettenmoors. I left Knute and Alaric with the job of putting up my tent and decided to explore the camp with Frerin. ("Exploring" the camp meant that I followed Frerin around and tried to convince him to tell me stories of Thorin when he was little and unmajestic.) Unfortunately, Frerin was a loyal brother and refused to say anything. I have the feeling that Thorin somehow threatened Frerin and Frerin was now too afraid to talk to me lest Thorin find out. Unfortunately, I have no idea what Thorin used as blackmail, so I have no way to get Frerin to talk.

Eventually, after the sun had set and the sky had turned a deep, starless black, Frerin and I settled by a fire to make dinner. (Or, Frerin made dinner and I stole his meal so he was forced to make another dinner.)

"You two seem to be fast friends," said Knute, taking the seat next to me and stretching out on the grass.

"How are we friendly?" asked Frerin. He finished cooking his second batch of potatoes and pulled away from the fire. "She stole my dinner."

"And you stole the trolls' dinner," I said. "It's a fair trade."

"I do not think fair trades work in such a way," said Alaric, sitting on the other side of Knute.

"So, Frerin," I said, leaning forward and taking a large bite of the crispy potatoes that I had stolen from Frerin. "You still haven't told me any good baby-Thorin stories."

The look Frerin gave me could have given a bear a heart-attack. I could see how Frerin and Thorin were brothers—they had both perfected the art of glaring. Perhaps they spent their childhood in deadlocked glaring contests.

"Thorin is five years older than Frerin," said Knute. "I doubt that Frerin has any stories of Thorin's, um, unmajestic childhood."

"Oh," I said, squinting at Frerin. "He has stories. He has _good_ stories."

Frerin inched away from me.

"What is Thorin blackmailing you with?" I asked. I shoveled a few more potatoes into my mouth, chewed carefully, and swallowed. "If you tell me, I'm sure I can bargain with Thorin. I can blackmail him back—if he exposes your weakness, then I'll expose his secret."

"You never did tell us about the time Thorin learned how to knit," said Nam, leaning forward.

"Oh yes," said Alaric. "You, with your stunning storytelling talent, began with—it was a dark and stormy night… Do continue."

"I can't," I said.

"Why can you not?" asked Frerin.

"Because as much blackmail I have about Thorin, he has about two times as much on me." I shuddered.

Alaric leaned forward and propped his chin on his hand. "You two must have incredible stories about one another."

"Oh, we do," I said. "We lived together for two years. However, I cannot tell you any of the goings on, because Thorin and I have reached the agreement that what happened in Bree stays in Bree."

"I am certain that you came up with that," said Knute, laughing.

"I did not," I said. "It is a time-honored saying that comes from my homeland. The original phrase was—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas—but the phrase has been modified to fit different situations. Such as Thorin's and my stay in Bree. For example, I now know what happens when Thorin gets drunk and why no one ever allows him to touch the strong stuff."

Knute and Alaric roared with laughter while Nam chuckled. Even Frerin managed a small smile (he refused to laugh outright because he was still mad at me for stealing his potatoes).

"We should reach Gundabad in two days."

The familiar voice sparked my memory and I turned around out of habit. Oin and Gloin—the slightly younger image of their future selves—were making seats around the campfire next to some other dwarves. Now, this might not have been my smartest move, but you have to understand that I had known these two dwarves very well in the future. I stared at them. Gloin looked a lot like Gimli. The same red-hair and braided beard. They even had the same dark brown eyes and round nose. While he had the same nose as his brother and nephew, Oin had brown hair (it had not yet turned white with age) and gray-green eyes. The two brothers had taken off their battle armor and were settling down with a couple of friends on the opposite side of the fire for conversation and dinner.

"Anren?" Knute punched me in the shoulder. (Let me tell you, Knute's punches hurt—_a lot_.)

"Why is she staring at Gloin?" asked Nam.

"Perhaps Anren the Seer has discovered her true love," said Alaric. He sighed dreamily.

Nam frowned. "I thought Thorin was her—" Knute must have stepped on Nam's foot because Nam squeaked and then clutched his boot, releasing groans of agony.

"I think we should introduce them," said Knute.

"What?" I finally tore my eyes away from Gloin and Oin to stare at Knute. "No. No-no-no-no—this is not happening."

Knute was already laughing as he turned around and hollered, "Gloin! You have an admirer!"

Frerin sighed. "This can only end badly."

Gloin—damn, at this age, he really did look like Gimli—turned around to see who had called him. He saw the laughing Knute and the grinning Alaric; then, his eyes slid to me—and I buried my face in my hands. I tried to use my long, blond hair to cover my face, but I'm not sure how good of a disguise it was—after all, I could not have Gloin or Oin recognizing me in the future.

"An admirer?" repeated Gloin, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Oh look at the time," I said, getting to my feet. I used my arm to cover my mouth and nose. "I must be getting back to my Thorin. Thanks for dinner, Frerin. We should do it again some time."

"I would rather not," said Frerin.

I bolted from the fireside as fast as my skinny, short legs could carry me. I ran through the camp and found my tent. I threw open the flaps, stepped inside—and found someone waiting for me.

I screamed.

Thrain stared at me.

I screamed again.

Thrain continued to stare at me.

I paused for a breath.

Thrain stared.

I screamed again.

Thrain kept on staring.

I stopped screaming and sighed. "I can see how you're Thorin's father."

"You are an odd person," said Thrain. He was standing in the middle of my tent, dressed in his full war armor, as though this were the most normal thing in the world. He had a slightly bemused expression on his face under his thick, black beard, but other than that, Thrain did not seem to realize just how creepy it was to be waiting for me in my tent.

"You scared me," I said, panting (I was still trying to get my breath back from screaming so much).

"I see."

Thrain's brown eyes raked over me like I was specimen under a microscope—except, I suppose Middle Earth doesn't have microscopes…Like I was some semi-interesting fly that had landed on his shoe and he was debating whether to squash me or not.

I smiled at Thrain, trying to keep the conversation as lighthearted as possible. "So, how was your day of walking?"

"I heard that you had an encounter with a troll," said Thrain, ignoring my question entirely.

"Two trolls," I said. "William and Harry. Nice guys if they hadn't been trying to eat me."

Thrain stared.

I squinted at him. "You really do remind me of Thorin. Did I ever tell you the story of when I first met Thorin in Bree?"

Thrain stared at me.

"Of course not," I said. "Because you've done nothing but glare at me since we first met. Well, I'm going to tell you that story whether you want to hear it or not. So, when I first approached Thorin in Bree, he tried to kill me with a sword he had been making at the time. Except, after I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran as fast as I could, Thorin decided that I was too pathetic to be killed. So, he let me hang around. I kept bothering him though. Every day for a month, I would show up at his blacksmith shop and ask him to let me tell him a story—it was a very important story to me. But he thought I was insane, so he ignored me. Every time I spoke, he stared at me—much like you stare at me—as thought I were a mental patient. Well, after a month of trying to convince him to talk to me, I decided the only option was to try the shock approach. I told Thorin that if he didn't let me tell him the story, I would follow him to the ends of Middle Earth. I would cook all his meals, I would sing him to sleep every night, and I would be his constant companion." I laughed. "I traumatized Thorin so much that he had no choice but to listen to my story."

Thrain had not moved an inch throughout my entire story. I was grinning and laughing softly as the memories turned through my mind. Thrain, however, was not nearly as amused by my attempts to convince Thorin to listen to my story of the Senturiel. So, being me, I tried again.

"You know what's funny," I said. "He listened to my story because he wanted to get rid of me. He figured the sooner that he heard the story, the sooner I would leave him alone. But by the time I had finished the story of where I came from, Thorin had changed his mind. And we've been bestest friendsies ever since." I giggled and clapped my hands. "Irony is a beautiful thing."

Thrain stared.

I sighed. "You're even worse than Thorin. Even with all his brooding, Thorin would have said _something_ by now." I paused and considered this. "Most likely, he would have told me to shut up."

"I want you to leave," said Thrain.

"Thank you!" I cried, throwing my hands into the air. "You said _something_. No more _staring_! Communication! We have reached the level of communication!"

A frown creased the corners of Thrain's mouth. "Why are you not upset?"

"Upset?" I asked, tilting my head to the side. "We are finally communicating. Why would I be upset?"

"I am telling you to leave my army and leave my son," said Thrain. "I am telling you not to come back."

"Yes," I said. "You've made that point very, _very_ clear. However, I think I've made my point very, _very_ clear too. I happen to be very attached to your son and, by some miracle and possible damage to his majestic brain, you son happens to be attached to me too—did you not listen to a word of my story?"

Thrain folded his arms over his chest and curled the end of his beard around his thumb. "Do you refer to the story where you stalked my son until he listened to you story?"

I laughed weakly. "Stalking is such a strong word."

"You stalked him," said Thrain firmly.

"Okay, okay, okay," I said, waving away Thrain's words. "So, I stalked him—but there was a very valid reason for my stalking that I cannot tell you because it was Seer business. You are missing the main point of the story."

Thrain took a deep breath. "What is the main point of the story, Anren?"

I lifted my head proudly and said, "Despite my stalkerish tendencies, despite my insanity, despite my incredible ability to drive people up the wall, your son still likes me. And your son is one of the most reasonable, most majestic people I have ever known—and trust me, I know a lot of people. I mean, I understand why you don't like me—I have a very unstable personality—which, I would like to point out, is not my fault. A sassy, gay rock likes to mess with me for fun from time to time."

I paused and gave Thrain time to adjust this information. Though, to be honest, I don't think Thrain was listening to anything I had to say at this point.

"You may not like me," I said. "But you must like Thorin, because you care enough about Thorin to try to drive me from this camp. You may be angry at Thorin and, as wrong as you might be, you may even blame him for his grandfather's death—minus a thousand Cool Points for that. But you do love him, so plus a thousand Cool Points for that. Now, because you love your son so much, why don't you try to trust him? Thorin is an incredible judge of character. He once, um, will, um, he trusted a hobbit—who did not look like much—to be burglar. That hobbit turned out to be one of the best damned burglars Middle Earth has ever seen. Thorin is a majestic dwarf and if Thorin believes that I am a decent person who deserves to stay by his side, then I want you to trust him."

The silence that followed my speech sent shivers down my spine. You have no idea how terrifying Thrain can be when he's contemplating something. I was ninety-nine-percent sure that he was going to drag me in chains out of his camp and throw me back into that troll hoard for Harry and William to have at me. Well, maybe more like ninety-eight-percent sure—I am incredibly good at speech making.

"I see," said Thrain, finally. "You will not leave of your own free will. And Thorin will not let me cast you out. The other clan leaders have no problems with you in our camp and I cannot argue with them. However, if you cause trouble. If you cause any trouble during my war, I will cast you out for the goblins to devour and I will not look back."

I am proud to say that I met King Thrain's gaze directly and I did not even flinch. Okay, maybe I flinched a little—but for the most part, I didn't flinch.

The moment I murmured agreement, Thrain walked past me and left my tent. The second the flaps closed behind him, I collapsed onto my makeshift bed and curled into the fetal position.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but the tent flaps opened again and the most majestic dwarf in the world entered my tent. He stood over me, staring with those piercing blue eyes.

"I see you did not survive my father's glare unscathed," said Thorin.

"That dwarf puts the grim reaper to shame," I said, rolling onto my back.

"Now," said Thorin, a soft smile hidden beneath his beard. "Imagine a childhood under that fearsome glare."

"That explains a lot," I said.

Thorin's eyebrows shot up. "What does it explain?"

"How you became so messed up that you can put up with me on a daily basis."

"Yes," said Thorin. "I am that impressive."

I aimed a sideway kick at his shin, but Thorin stepped backwards so that I missed and my leg flapped awkwardly in the air before I gave up and curled back into a ball.

"We are the survivors of childhood trauma," I said. I grinned up at Thorin. "You know, if you think about it, your father is not that scary."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." I sat up and threw the covers off my lap. "When you compare the terror of his glare to the experience of being a teenage girl getting her period for the first time—well, let me tell you, _I _have experienced the worst horror of all. Thrain son of Thror, King of Durin's Fold and King Under the Mountain doesn't have nothin' on periods."

If Thorin had been anyone other than Thorin, he would have laughed aloud at that joke—I swear. But he was Thorin, so he just stared at me impassively.

I shrugged. "I thought it was funny."

Thorin didn't respond.

I threw the covers back over me and curled up on the bed. "I'm going to sleep. The exit is over there." I pointed in the general direction of the door. "Unless you want to sing me a lullaby with that majestic voice of yours—goodnight."

"Goodnight, Ana."

"Anren," I corrected.

"Ana."

* * *

**A/N: I posted the second chapter of Chimera on fictionpress (link on profile page). It would mean the world to me if you would read this story and let me know what confuses you, what characters you like, what needs improvement, what interests you, what bores you - please, please, please. Please. I'll give you presents!**

**Also, review! Because you love me (I hope) and I love you (for sure) and we all love each other (most likely) and therefore reviewing is nice. (I just made zero sense).**


	91. The Sacking Of Mount Gundabad

**PART TWO: ANAMESIS**

**Chapter XI: The Sacking Of Mount Gundabad**

"You are not as poor with an arrow as you initially seemed, Honey."

Alaric glanced at my crossbow and nodded approvingly. The archers were perched on various mountain ledges, high above the battlefield. About thirty archers besides Alaric and myself were half-concealed by a rock formations on the south side of Mount Gundabad. Thrain had led the initial attack just before dawn. The dwarven scouts had lured the orc army out of the mountain. The orcs ran onto the slopes and found themselves rained on by arrows from above, blinded by the burning sunlight, and stabbed with thousands of spears and swords. The battle had been going for a little over an hour now. I had gone through about three dozen arrows (I was careful to aim far away from the battlefield on my tenth shot so that I would not accidentally hit any dwarves).

"Thorin made me practice every day," I said. "He would not feed me dinner unless I had practiced that day." I smiled sheepishly. "He even made me practice in the rain."

I picked up an arrow and placed it in my crossbow, pulling back the taut string. I skimmed the ground below—searching the hoard of orcs and dwarves. No matter how good of an archer I was, it was impossible to be sure that my shot would hit an orc. Instead, I scanned along the cliffs and rock formations—an orc archer hidden in between two boulders. I aimed, lining up my aim with the orc's visible forehead.

"The eighth shot," I murmured, and then fired.

The arrow shot from the crossbow and whistled through the air. I did not see the arrow strike the orc, but I saw the orc fall from his perch in the rocks and tumbled down to the battlefield.

"Good shot," said Alaric, firing his own arrow from his longbow. I did not see where his arrow ended up, but he seemed pleased with the result.

"I've never been an archer in a battle before," I said, honestly.

"You were in the thick of the fighting, Honey?" asked Alaric. (He had taken to calling me "Honey" after my blond hair. I haven't decided yet whether I should push him off the edge of a cliff or just shoot him with my crossbow.)

"Oh yeah," I said, picking up another arrow and sliding it into place. "Me and my little Sword Breaker."

"Is the Sword Breaker the knife you carry around in your right boot?" asked Alaric.

"Yep." I grinned as I lined up my sight and found another orc-target to shoot.

"I apologize for thing, my dear Honey," said Alaric. "But your weapon resembles a comb. A very ornate comb." He added the last part as though it might make the insult less insulting.

"The ninth shot." I fired the crossbow and watched the arrow find its target perfectly. "Also, don't mess with the Sword Breaker—I bet you that _comb_ has survived more battles than your sword."

A smile flickered across Alaric's face as he drew back his longbow. "Thorin told me that you spent most of your battles running away from the enemy and screaming at the top of your lungs."

I gasped. "Thorin—that traitor. How dare he tell you such things! I will have you know that even I had my competent moments in battle."

Alaric released the arrow and the string snapped back into place. He followed the path of the arrow with his eyes and then, with a satisfied smile, he reached for another arrow.

I placed another arrow in my crossbow, but instead of finding an unsuspecting orc to shoot, I turned around and fired at a rock behind me—making certain that there were no dwarves within hitting range. The arrow completely misfired and landed in crevice four feet away from the rock. I got up and retrieved the arrow, placing it back in the crossbow.

"And that was the tenth shot," I said.

"You are dismal, my fair damsel," said Alaric, letting loose another arrow.

"Tell me about it," I said with a dramatic sigh.

There was a pause as we scanned over the battlefield. The dwarves had a clear advantage over the orcs. The enemy had been taken by surprise—they had not expect a whole host of dwarves to show up on the doorstep of Mount Gundabad. The dwarves outnumbered the orcs and washed over the enemy like a tidal wave. The first battle, according to Alaric, would not be a long one.

"There is Thorin," said Alaric, pointing.

I followed his direction and saw that Thorin was fighting side-by-side with a hulking figure who—even from a distance—I could recognize as Dwalin (though younger Dwalin had a little more hair on top of his head). They were surrounded by at least a dozen orcs with Balin helping them from a few feet away.

I grabbed an arrow and strung it in my crossbow. I peered through the targeting system and found the head of an orc—high above Thorin, Dwalin, or Balin's head.

"Careful, Honey" said Alaric.

The crossbow sprung to life. The arrow soared through the air and embedded itself in the left temple of an orc's head. The gray orc stood still for a moment and then his legs collapsed beneath him. Like a crumpled piece of paper, he folded at Thorin's feet.

I grinned and reached for another arrow.

"Did your beloved Thorin give you any parting words before the battle?" asked Alaric, firing his longbow once again.

With a snap of my crossbow, another orc fell to the ground. I grinned. "He told me that if I died, he would find a necromancer and raise me from the dead—all so he could kill me again in the most brutal way he knows how." I paused and then shuddered. "He means death by spiders."

"That is not so terrible," said Alaric. "There are worse ways to die."

"While hanging upside down from the tallest tree in Mirkwood."

Alaric frowned. "Are you afraid of heights by any chance?"

"With elves sitting on the surrounding trees, singing and laughing at my demise. Thorin was _very_ specific about how he was going to kill me."

"Oh." Alaric grabbed another arrow while I shot another orc-archer hiding amongst the landscape.

"Thorin knows my weaknesses," I said.

"There do seem to be a lot of them, Honey," said Alaric.

"I'll make you a deal," I said. "If I die, you have to kill every single necromancer in Middle Earth so Thorin cannot resurrect me and hang me upside down in the tallest tree in Mirkwood, feed me to the spiders and invite the local elves to come watch."

Alaric smiled. "What will you give me if I agree to do this?"

"I'll let you call me 'Honey' for the rest of my life."

"Deal."

The dwarven army had almost entirely overwhelmed the orcs of Mount Gundabad. Even with the growing reassurance of our victory, I could not help but feel my stomach flip over. I want to take a moment out of my highly entertaining storytelling to explain something to you. I _hate_ war. I hate it to very core of my being. I look down at the battlefield on the slopes of Mount Gundabad and I see a blanket of bodies. Mostly orc bodies. But even with their gray, gaunt faces, their small, cruel eyes, and the long list of atrocities they have committed in Middle Earth, I cannot help but feel sad at their fate. Run through by the blade of an enemy and then trodden on so that others could fight.

There were also dwarves who were woven into the blanket of the deceased. From my perched upon high, if I squinted, I could make out the unique features of each dwarf. Some I recognized from around camp and others I had no idea who they were. Longbeards, Firebeards, Broadbeams, Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, and Stonefoots. Names, places, identities. And now they were dead. They died for Thrain's revenge. But they also died for what they believed in. My chest twists and curls with the hideous cruelty that lurks behind each death on the battlefield, because no matter how much I hate war—there is still something to be admired amongst the dead.

I hate war. I hate the way it makes me feel—all sticky on the inside because I both hate and respect my friends, my enemies, and the dead. So, you have to ask—I can practically see the asking in your eyes even if you're not sitting in front of me right now—why am I in the middle of yet another war when I hate the battlefield so much? The answer is actually simpler than you think.

I love my friends more than I hate war.

Of course, most of the time I just cause trouble for my friends, but there are those rare occasions where I'm needed. If there is a single, little, tiny, miniscule thing I can do for Thorin or Knute or Thorin or Nam or Thorin or Alaric or Thorin or Frerin or Thorin (mainly Thorin)—I will do it. Even if it means sitting behind a boulder and firing arrows at orcs and watching them fold like pieces of paper and die, I will do it.

And perhaps—_perhaps_—despite how much I hate the death and the tragedy, just a little, tiny, miniscule part of me prefers the battlefield to the boredom of the mundane life in Bree.

And there you go. I said it. It's done. And we shall never speak of this again. Do you understand? I hope you understand, because I need you to understand.

Okay, back to the battlefield, where Alaric and I were firing arrows like lives depended on it. (Oh! I'm witty.)

"That is it," said Alaric.

"What is it?" I asked, pausing just before I fired an arrow at the back of an orc's head.

"Thrain had given us the signal. The orcs are fleeing. We have captured Mount Gundabad."

"Nice," I said. I lowered my crossbow and grinned broadly at Alaric. "We survived our first bat—"

"Orcs!"

"From behind!"

"The archers!"

You know how I have this wonderful talent for saying something and then because I say that thing, bad things happened? Yeah? Well, this was one of those times. Just as I was saying, "we survived our first battle"—a small battalion of orcs attacked the archers. They had snuck through a secret passageway in the mountain and had come out behind the archers. We had not expected the attack and we did not realize the orcs were there until one of them drove his sword through the commander's throat.

An orc bashed in the skull of another archer. A dwarf collapsed at my feet, blood staining the boulder. Alaric drew his sword and gave a war cry in the dwarven language. He charged into the fray, protecting an archer who was trying to shoot an orc at close range. Another archer cleaved in half. An orc stabbed through the throat with an arrow. A broken longbow.

An orc—muscular with biceps the size of my head—towered above me. He lifted his sword and let out a deep grunt.

I screamed and leapt to the side—just avoiding the blade.

I reached into the side of my boot and drew out the Sword Breaker. The orc swung his sword again—this time coming at me from the side. I screeched and tried to block him with the Sword Breaker. My knife blocked the brunt of the attack, but the sword slid clumsily out of the Sword Breaker and the sharpened blade sliced against my forearm and my side just above my wrist.

The orc drew back, ready for another attack, but before he could deal the finishing blow, Alaric drove his sword through the orc's ribcage. The orc shuddered and collapsed to the ground, staining the mountainside with his red blood.

There was a lot of blood.

I didn't know an orc could bleed so much.

Oh wait. Not all of that was the orc's blood. Some of it was mine.

My blood?

I looked down at the scratch on my forearm.

I screamed.

My legs gave out beneath me and I collapsed beside the orc.

"Honey!" cried Alaric, leaping over the orc's dead body. "Honey! You are injured!"

"I'm dying!" I shrieked. "Oh my God! The blood! The blood! I'm dying!"

The battalion of orcs who had attacked the archers had been taken care of by this point. Some of the dwarven army had sprinted up the slope and had wiped out the orcs before they could destroy all of the archers. The ground was littered with dead bodies and stained with blood. I felt my stomach heave as I stared at my own wounds.

"I don't want to die, Alaric!" I wailed, wrapping my uninjured arm around his neck. "Don't let me die!"

"You!" cried Alaric, pointing at a random dwarf behind him. "Go get Thorin son of Thrain!"

The dwarf immediately turned and sprinted away to do as Alaric (who, I would like to remind you, is a dwarven prince of the Stiffbeards) demanded. I watched the dwarf run, the sword strapped at his side swinging madly from side to side in time with his footsteps.

"Thorin?" I whispered, my eyes widening with shock. "No! Alaric! Not Thorin!"

"Why not?" asked Alaric. "He will look after you, Honey."

"He will resurrect me!" I cried. "He will hang me from the tallest tree in Mirkwood and let the spiders feast upon my flesh while the elves watch and laugh nad place bets on how long I'll last!" I gripped Alaric's shoulder with my good hand. "You had better keep your promise, Alaric Stiffbeard. You had better kill all the necromancers in Middle Earth before Thorin can resurrect me."

"Of course, Honey," said Alaric, his eyes glowing with dedication. "Whatever my fair damsel desires."

I gasped and clutched my side. The pain shot through me like webs of electric shocks. "The pain… Alaric… I think I might really be dying…"

"You cannot!" cried Alaric. "Anren! You cannot die just yet!" He turned around and glared at the crowd of dwarves who had gathered around us. "Why has Thorin son of Thrain not arrived yet?"

"He is here!" someone shouted.

The crowd of dwarves parted to reveal Thorin in all his post-battle majesty. His dark hair was matted with sweat and his face, hands, and clothes were stained with dirt and blood. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion and his blue eyes had the brooding misery of someone who had just witnessed the deaths of hundreds. When his majestic gaze fell on me, bleeding all over poor Alaric, something sparked behind those eyes, but Thorin did a good job of masking whatever emotion that might have been.

"I told you not to die," he said gruffly.

"Well, I am," I cried, reaching out my good hand to Thorin. My fingers were sticky and red.

Thorin turned to the nearest dwarf. "Would you happen to know any good necromancers?"

"No!" I screamed. "Not that! Anything but that!"

Thorin turned back to me, one eyebrow cocked higher than the other and a twisted smile on his lips that did not quite reach his eyes. "You should have thought of the consequences before you were stabbed by an orc."

"I tried!" I wailed. "Besides! Alaric vowed to kill all the necromancers in Middle Earth before you could resurrect me!"

Thorin's eyes narrowed and he glowered at Alaric. "Then I will have to stop him."

Alaric gulped. He lowered me to the ground and quickly stepped away from me (perhaps to get as far away from Thorin as possible in case I really did die). Thorin stepped forward—a look from his sent the crowd of dwarves around him scattering in all directions. I suddenly found myself, lying on the ground, clutching my side, with no one but Thorin, his gaze icy, standing over me. We were alone. The other dwarves had busied themselves with caring for the injured. (they had left us alone thanks to the power of the glare passed down by the rulers of the line of Durin.) However, even though the other dwarves kept their distance, I could still feel their curious eyes following Thorin's and my movements.

I coughed and clutched my injured side again. "The light. It's fading. Thorin, come closer. I cannot see your face from so far away."

"You can see me just fine," said Thorin darkly.

I coughed and cringed as the pain shot through my side.

Thorin seemed to realize that I was actually in pain and, reluctantly, he knelt beside me.

"Please." My voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. "Please. Before I…pass on. Please, sing to me one more time."

Thorin stared at me.

"The world," I moaned. "Is fading. Disappearing. I can feel it slipping away from my grasp. Slipping, slipping, no…" I coughed and spluttered.

Thorin stared.

"Please…" I extended bloodied fingertips and touched the side of Thorin's face. "Please."

He gritted his teeth and gave me the ferocious glare he could (Thankfully, I have experience, I can withstand the Durin Glare.) Then, something seemed to collapse inside Thorin and he sighed. "Fine."

I smiled. "The Misty Mountain song, please."

"Are you—?" Thorin stopped himself from saying whatever he was about to say. He breathed. In and out. And then started singing. A low, deep, majestic note. Sorrow and beauty and determination—his majestic voice filled my ears as he sang not only the first verse, but also the second of the lonely tale of his lost home.

I lay on the ground, clutching my injured side and basked in the majesty of his voice. As the song came to its end, I slowly opened my eyes and whispered, "Thorin…"

"Ana?"

"Thorin, my side… It feels… better?"

He stared at me.

I sat up and blinked. "What is this? Your voice." I clasped Thorin by the shoulders. "Thorin—your voice, it has healed me."

"Ana." His brow furrowed and his teeth ground together with frustration.

I lifted up the bottom of my shift to show the thin cut across my side—it was barely more than a scratch.

"Wow," I said. "Your majestic voice must also have majestic healing powers."

"Ana," said Thorin, his voice taut with anger. "The blood on your clothes and hands are from the dead orc."

I blinked and then offered Thorin a glowing smile. "Have I ever told you what a majestic voice you have? You should sing more often."

Thorin stared at me. I smiled at Thorin.

"Thank you, Anren," said Thorin, getting to his feet.

I frowned. "Why are you thanking me?"

He picked me up by the scruff of my neck. My feet swung beneath me, but I was held just above the ground. Thorin glowered at me, his blue eyes flashing with hot rage.

"You have just saved me the trouble of finding a necromancer to resurrect you," said Thorin. "Since you clearly did not die, I can bring you to the tallest tree in Mirkwood, feed you to the spiders, and invite the elves to watch _without_ having to resurrect you first."

In case you were wracked with worry for my well-being, I will have you know that I did not die that day (obviously). Instead, we spent the afternoon caring for the wounded and creating a funeral pure for the dead. And in the evening, we celebrated the Sacking of Mount Gundabad—the first battle in the long and tiring War of Dwarves and Orcs. Also, I managed to trick Thorin into singing to me with his deep, majestic voice—now_ that's_ something worth celebrating.

* * *

**A/N: Please, please, please, please, please, please, please read the two chapters of my original novel Chimera that I have posted on fictionpress (link on profile) and let me know what needs improving, what is confusing, and what you like. Thank you!**

**Anyway, I love Ana's attempts (and one success) to get Thorin to sing to her. REVIEW to celebrate Ana's success? (I'm running out of ideas to motivate you to review)**


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